


All That Glitters

by IlanaNight



Series: All That Glitters [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 57,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4703630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IlanaNight/pseuds/IlanaNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cipher is the best dancer anyone's ever seen, men and women flock from cities around to watch him perform. Bill is the most detached neighbor Dipper's ever known. It's difficult to believe that they're the same person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ride of Your Life

**Author's Note:**

> hello yes i'm making a poor life choice

Moving to an entirely new place on his own was a daunting experience for Dipper. All the way through college he’d lived in the same house or apartment as his sister, but this year they were going their separate ways. Mabel had decided to pursue a career in fashion design, and had moved down to Los Angeles to search for work there. It was hard to enter the fashion industry from a small town in Oregon.

For Dipper, though, solitude was preferred. With a dual degree in English and Creative Writing, he’d been working on novels since his sophomore year of college, with a couple of them published. He found his inspiration in the Oregon Vortex and the quirky towns that existed therein, though he’d chosen a slightly larger city to call his new home.

Call him paranoid, Dipper Pines did not want to live more than fifteen minutes from the nearest hospital.

Dipper had enlisted the help of a few of his college friends to move all of his furniture and clothing and other supplies into the new apartment, at the price of promising them all a round of drinks at a bar of their choosing. With all of the boxes in their respective rooms- it was up to Dipper to unpack them and figure out where everything went, the boys set about scrolling through the listings of bars and clubs in the area, trying to find something they could walk to safely.

“Aw, man, we gotta check this place out.” Dipper leant over to read the page open on his friend’s phone, intrigued. The Oculo Mentis was a strip club, it seemed, that specialised in all sexes and genders. And apparently, tonight boasted a spectacular show, if the flier on the front webpage was any indication.

_Center Stage Tonight: Cipher, our established star and most requested dancer!_   
_Join us for a night of excitement, intrigue, and a tease you’ve never experienced before…_

__

The only hint as to who ‘Cipher’ might be was a single gold eye, outlined in thick kohl liner and accented by gold eyeshadow that sparkled in the artificial light.

“Yeah, sure, this works. From the looks of it, though, we better get there early, if this Cipher’s as well-known as they’re hyped up to be.”

Once they’d all grabbed a quick bite to eat, they made their way over to the club, which was only a few blocks down the main road. The line already forming outside of the door was enough to tell Dipper that there was at least a bit of truth to the flier’s exaggerations. People didn’t line up outside of one of a dozen bars down the street before sundown for just anyone.

The chattering whispers confirmed Dipper’s assumptions.

“CIpher’s center stage tonight? I wonder what the occasion is?”

“He almost never dances center, it’s part of his style to stay shrouded. Mysterious, always there in the background but never right in front of you.”

 

"I've seen him open and close, but never do a full set..."

“What do you think he really looks like up close? I’ve only ever seen glimpses before… Never get here early enough for more.”

Perhaps what was most intriguing and amusing was the fact that there seemed to be no preference between the genders that Dipper walked past to get to the back of the line. Men and women alike seemed to be fawning over this man, whoever he was, and that was a rare occurrence. Usually, a dancer drew a heavy male or heavy female audience, but somehow, whoever this ‘Cipher’ was, he’d found a way to attract one and all.

Dipper supposed he’d see tonight what the appeal was- if the didn’t step out from sheer embarrassment. He hadn’t told his friends that this was his first time at a strip club, and now didn’t really seem the time. All he knew was what he’d heard from roommates and classmates over the years, and he wasn’t sure that would prepare him for the real thing.

At 7pm, the doors opened and a fancily dressed host stepped out, gesturing for the line of people to enter as they paid the fee. Twenty dollars wasn’t terribly high, considering the show was set to last a couple of hours, though Dipper was certain that was including opening and closing acts. No matter who ‘Cipher’ was, it would surely kill someone to dance for two straight hours under club lights and amidst the smoke and fog that was already creeping into his vision.

His friends were eager to sit at a table close to the stage, claiming one with a good view, though everything was currently shrouded in shadow. There was time yet before the show began, and waiters were walking from table to table to take orders for drinks and appetisers. Dipper sighed and opened a tab, ordering a round for the table. His pocket would be hurting tonight, but it was a fair price to pay for not having to move his own furniture up three flights of stairs.

Just shortly after 7:30, the house lights dimmed and a spotlight filtered down through the smoke and fog, lighting the center stage pole. Dipper’s assumptions were soon proven right as a young woman with a shock of hair so black it seemed to absorb light took the stage and began her dance. A few of the patrons whistled and catcalled her, tossing dollar bills onto the stage as she danced and she threw them smiles, but a good majority were chatting idly amongst themselves, likely here for the main attraction.

Two other dancers, one male and one female, later, and another round of drinks was brought to the table, though Dipper made clear that would be the last. His friends still had to drive home tonight, and he wasn’t putting them in danger on his behalf or on his dime. Begrudgingly, his friends assented and agreed to leave after Cipher’s performance. That would give them time to grab their stuff from Dipper’s apartment and sober up a bit before driving home.

As the third dancer took her bow and collected her tips, throwing a rose into the crowd with a kiss, the music changed, taking on a darker tone. The lighting, too, shifted. The lights which had been muted reds and whites up until now were now a deep shade of gold, washing the stage in light. All conversation halted as the suspenseful music filtered in through the speakers, a lilting laugh accompanying it.

“I hear you’re awaiting a show….”

The voice seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once, piped in through the speaker system along with the music. Dipper found himself joining the other patrons in looking from left to right, examining the stage and surrounding area for a source to the voice, but to no avail.

Another laugh preceded the answer to the crowd’s unspoken query as a slim form appeared on stage, not from the ground as those before him had, but hanging from rigging above, leaping with grace from the trapeze-like structure and catching hold of the pole. With tight spins, the figure-head still down and shrouded in shadow- twirled down to the floor before finally opening outwards for the final spin.

The gold light alit on his hair and set the blond locks aflame, a halo of hold around a pale face. The kohl eyeliner was starkly visible, rimming eyes that Dipper knew from the flier were a bright golden hazel. What really caught the eye, though, was the glitter dusted over him. Black streaks of glitter caught the light in his hair, while the rest of him was covered in a thin dusting of gold glitter that set his skin shimmering. If Midas’s gift was brought to life, it surely would have produced a creature like the one on the stage that night.

From where he was sitting, Dipper could see that Cipher was smiling, a vicious grin on his face as he flipped his hair out of his face.

“I’m sorry to keep you all waiting. I do hope to make up for it.”

Those were Cipher’s last words for the night, though his mic was left one for the entirety of his dance, picking up the gasps of breath and soft, nearly soundless grunts of effort as the blond vixen made full use of the stage at his disposal. Most of his time was spent on the pole, twisting and contorting at angles that had Dipper’s throat tightening and a heat building in his stomach.

This club knew what it was doing, the sights and sounds combining for what was easily the most erotic and intimate thing Dipper had ever experienced.

When Cipher wasn’t curled around the pole in midair, he made use of hips that couldn’t possibly belong on a human body, swaying from side to side with the music as his own hands wadered his torso. With only a chippendale collar to cover the skin there, little was left to the imagination as his hands dusted off some of the glitter, leaving streaks of bare skin visible.

It made Cipher look wrecked and bed-mussed, and tips rained down on the blond, whose only response was a dark smirk and a blown kiss, leaving glitter on his own lips. Cipher’s hands, now coated in glitter, danced in front of him in intricate motions as he stepped down from the stage, using the stage itself as a prop now.

Dipper was close enough to see the sweat pooling at Cipher’s temples and in the hollow of his collarbone now, and it took all of his self control in that moment not to reach out and touch the man before him.

There was no way Cipher was human. Humans couldn’t possibly look so ethereal.

Flipping himself back onto the stage, Cipher regarded the audience with intrigue as a trio of dancers joined him, each of them coated in a different colour of glitter. Blue, red, and green dusted men trailed hands over Cipher’s torso and left marks of their own colour, and in return, the blond grabbed them by their collars, pulling them close and claiming their lips in harsh kisses amidst hoots and hollers from the crowd.

The microphone remained on through the entire exchange, picking up on the clashing of tongues and teeth, the pained gasps and the strangled struggles for breath as Cipher’s fingers clasped the collars at their throats. The blond was simultaneously the predator and the prey, and the juxtaposition had Dipper tossing money onto the stage as well, earning him a wink from the blond.

As the song drew to an end, the three dancers closed in around Cipher, two of them taking places at his ears to whisper out of range of the microphone and the third to fall to his knees at the dancer’s feet as the two pulled away, falling into lunges at either side.

“I’m told we have fresh blood tonight… and I intend to take the first _taste.”_

Everyone in the crowd was suddenly looking around, confused and surprised at the turn of events as Cipher leapt down from the stage once more, boots clacking on the wood paneled floors. Once again, Dipper was reminded that the only fabric between Cipher’s skin and the eyes that followed his every move was the chippendale collar and the leather shorts that left little to the imagination.

And whatever that ‘little’ was, it was swiftly extinguished as Cipher turned towards him with a ravenous grin.

“Tell me, kid. You ready for the ride of your life?”

The dancer didn’t give Dipper a moment to process the question, let alone answer, before he settled himself on Dipper’s lap, a warm, firm weight over the brunet’s thighs and dangerously close to an area that certainly did not need stimulation at this moment.

And Cipher didn’t stop there, oh no, not in the slightest.

A grin on his face, the blond wound one of his hands into brown locks of hair, the other clutching at Dipper’s shirt collar as he began to gyrate atop the taller male. Slim fingers tugged at Dipper’s hair and he obliged the unspoken command, letting his head be pulled back to expose his neck to the ravenous blond on his lap. That same grin on his face, Cipher took the opportunity, pressing kisses up the long column of Dipper’s neck, all while maintaining the same punishing pace of his hips, leather and jean cotton producing an electric friction.

The soft gasps and light keens escaping the blond now reached Dipper’s ears in stereo, both from the dancer in his lap and from the monitors still hooked up to Cipher’s microphone, and Dipper was almost certain it was picking up on his own ragged breathing and grunts.

Slowing, Cipher halted so he was above Dipper, resting his weight on his knees on either side of Dipper’s legs. Pulling the brunet up by his collar, Cipher kissed Dipper as he had kissed the boys on stage, hard, impersonal, but unforgettably hot as hell.

And then, as swiftly as he’d come, he was gone, flitting back on to the stage to take his final bow and collect his tips in a flurry of glitter and applause.

To either side, Dipper’s friends were patting his shoulders in congratulations, but Dipper was only distantly aware of that fact. His blood was split evenly between his cheeks and his nether regions, and he was incapable of thought.

Cipher was a miracle. Cipher was a curse. Cipher was wonderful. Cipher was, frankly, terrifying.

And Dipper was _enamoured._

Dragged away from his seat and home, Dipper vaguely recalled waving his good byes to his friends before retiring to bed, still caught up in the dance from earlier. And if he growled the blond’s name into his pillows that night, hands buried beneath the covers, who was to be any the wiser?

Dipper slept miraculously well that night, for someone who boasted of an insomnia to match his writer’s work ethic, often up for days on end with minimal rest. He slept past the rising of the sun and didn’t rouse himself from bed until almost ten o’clock, rubbing at his eyes and yawning.

He wasn’t quite awake, part of him still living in the night prior, when he walked to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. A thunk and a curse from the other side of his door drew his attention and Dipper shrugged, making his way to the door.

Had to meet the neighbors sometime, right?

Unlatching the deadbolt, Dipper ducked his head out, “Do you need help with… that…..”

His words trailed off as he looked across the hall at the man who was just rising from picking up the box he’d dropped, a box of CDs from the look of it. He’d picked the worst- or perhaps best- moment to look over, as bright gold eyes met brown with disdain before rolling in their sockets.

The blond unlocked his door with the other hand, turning back to look over his shoulder at Dipper with a cool smirk, “Take a picture, Pine Tree. It’ll last longer.”

And with that, the blond’s door closed, Cipher disappearing behind it, and Dipper retreated back into his own room, closing and locking the door before he sat down with his back against the wood, running a hand through his hair.

Head in his hands, Dipper wished he didn’t remember last night for the first time.

Cipher was his neighbor? And right across the hall no less? And probably remembered everything?

“Oh, _fuck.”_

**  
**  



	2. Close Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living so close to Cipher, Dipper really couldn't hope not to see him from time to time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here i am living in sin again

Dipper spent a better part of the following hour sat on the floor, alternatively placing his head in his hands or staring at the opposite wall. He couldn’t believe what he’d seen, couldn’t believe that _Cipher_ lived _across the hall._

 

How on Earth was he supposed to live this down?

 

More than anything Dipper wanted to forget seeing the man across the hall, forget the bright gold eyes that met his own, but his mind betrayed him, reliving the experience instead.

 

Cipher was a good deal shorter without the heel’s he’d been wearing while dancing. Last night he’d been nearly Dipper’s height when he came over, but from across the hall and wearing only sneakers, the blond had looked to be almost six inches shorter than him, though that fact did little to lessen the intimidation factor.

 

Sighing, Dipper tipped his head back, smacking it against the door in frustration.

 

The man lived across the hall, he knew _nothing_ about him. He hadn’t spoken a single word to Cipher, he didn’t even know Cipher’s _real name._ All he knew was that the man was beautiful and cold and could kill a man with a glance. And that he was undeniably attracted to the mystery across the hall.

 

With a groan, Dipper picked himself up off the floor, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. He made his way to the bathroom, intent upon showering and getting ready to do some serious unpacking today. If he wanted to start writing, he’d need to get all those boxes cleared out of the way first, or he’d never be able to focus.

 

Flicking on the light, Dipper gave himself a once-over in the mirror in the sink- and had to pause and step closer to take a better look at his reflection. For a second, he thought it was a trick of the light or a figment of his imagination, an aftershock of the encounter this morning perhaps, but when he looked closer, he saw that it was neither. What he saw nearly had him screaming, but as it was, he let out another disparaging groan.

 

His face was peppered with flecks of gold glitter, clinging to his skin like fine dust.

 

Dipper’s face flushed a deep red as he realised that he’d _opened_ the _door_ with that glitter still on his face. That he’d come face to face with Cipher still bearing the glitter that the dancer had left on his face the night before.

 

With a sigh of defeat, Dipper shucked off his sleep clothes and stepped into the shower, hoping to scrub all of the glitter from his skin before going out to face the world again.

 

When Dipper stepped out of the shower, he examined his face closely. Most of the glitter was gone, though he could still spot a fleck or two here and there and he resigned himself to being unable to fully remove them. They’d fall off eventually, glitter just liked to cling.

 

Returning to his room, he placed a hand on his forehead as he saw the catastrophe therein. Having gone to bed almost directly after returning home, he hadn’t noticed just how much glitter had shaken off onto his pants during the fateful dance, but he could see now. It had fallen off in a trail to the hamper, gold dust catching light in the carpet, and was flecked across the rim of the hamper where Dipper had tossed his jeans the night prior.

 

As if having Cipher _himself_ across the hall wasn’t bad enough, evidence of just how up close and personal that dance had been were left _all over his apartment._

Several choice curse words later, Dipper took the pants from the hamper, grateful that only his outfit from the day before was in there and no other clothes had been contaminated by the sparkly dust. He placed them in a plastic bag, intent on washing them separately and, if that didn’t succeed, possibly burning them.

 

With that accomplished, he pulled fresh jeans and graphic t-shirt from the box of clothes on his floor and began the horrendous task of unpacking and arranging all of his earthly belongings.

 

Only stopping around noon to microwave himself a frozen lunch, Dipper made swift progress on the boxes. It was much easier with the furniture already in place and assembled, all that Dipper had to do was arrange his various trinkets, books, and other belongings. Clothes were thrown into the dresser, some shirts hung in the closet for the sake of keeping them nice, and keeping up the illusion that he actively cared about his wardrobe.

 

Mabel would be visiting at some point, after all.

 

With only a couple of boxes of nonessential items left unpacked, Dipper got up from the floor with a groan, cracking his neck and his back. Placing his hands on his hips, he looked around his apartment with pride. It looked like home now, looked like a place he could live and write easily.

 

The growl of his stomach tore his attention from his prideful admiration of his handiwork and a soft chuckle escaped the brunet. A check of the clock atop the oven told him that it was nearly six o’clock, a good time to go out and get himself dinner, surely.

 

Grabbing a jacket, his wallet, and keys, Dipper stepped out into the hallway, locking the door behind him with a smile. The productive day had taken his mind off the embarrassment of this morning, and Cipher’s door was closed, so no awkward interactions could ensue.

 

Idly, Dipper wondered if Cipher was dancing today, and if he was, if he’d already left for the club.

 

As he walked down the hall past Cipher’s apartment, though, the second part of his question was answered. Through the walls, which weren’t nearly as thick as they should be, Dipper could hear a thrumming baseline, which meant Cipher was certainly still home. Despite himself, Dipper lingered, stepping closer to the wall to see if he could hear any more of the song.

 

_No escaping when I start_

_Once I'm in I own your heart_

_There's no way you'll ring the alarm_

_So hold on until it's over_

A secondary voice joined Adam Lambert’s, colder and higher and strained for breath at times, but still loud enough to be heard through the walls and Dipper flushed a bright red, stepping away and rushing down the hall as fast as he could without running or making a ruckus.

 

Somewhere behind that wall, Cipher was _singing_ and by the sound of it _dancing_ and Dipper just couldn’t handle that mental image right now. Especially not with the song that Cipher had chosen for _whatever_ it was he was doing.

 

Dipper’s face was flushed all the way to the restaurant, a series of images rising to his mind completely unbidden, some memories from the night prior, some entirely imagined, and all of them entirely inappropriate for any sort of pleasant company. Rather than sitting down, he chose to simply order takeout and return to the apartment- no one else needed to see exactly how shameful he was.

 

Blessedly, the hall was entirely silent when Dipper returned- presumably Cipher had gone to work, and Dipper was fully intent on being asleep before the dancer got home, for the sake of his own sanity.

 

For the second night in a row, Dipper dreamt of gold eyes and a laugh that rang in his ears, gasps of breath and glittered hands touching his skin, and beneath it all was a sensual bassline and synthesized melodies.

 

A good week went by without incident after that. Dipper spent most of his time in his apartment, trying to work on the sequel to the book he’d published earlier that year. His publisher didn’t have a deadline set for him yet, but he wanted to start knocking chapters out before the time crunch began. It would lower the stress for later.

 

Some days, that writing went well and pages were spun out under his fingers on the keys. He’d read them in a week or two to edit them, but for the moment, they were just what he wanted. Those were the good days.

 

Other days, however, his characters would not come to him, would not speak to him. Instead, a dark voice in the back of his head whispered of something he’d never considered doing. Thin lips coerced him into making a folder on his laptop for a novel he doubted he’d ever finish, and certainly wouldn’t publish if he did.

 

_The Midas Touch: A Romance_

 

Just looking at the folder had him covering his face every time, but that hadn’t stopped him from opening it time and again, opening the Word document therein and adding page after page. References and research, and more than a few pages of the novel itself, a story already unfolding.

 

And the folder also contained a single image, the same one off the flier that had brought Dipper to _Oculo Mentis_ in the first place, a single golden eye staring out from glittered skin and kohl-laced lashes.

 

The inspiration for his novel was painfully obvious and painfully personal, if the story kept going as it was now. Who would think that his autobiographical experience would begin with harlequin novels?

 

“Mother _fucker!”_

Through the wall, Dipper heard Cipher’s voice and a crash, and though the rest of the words couldn’t be made out, he was certain the dancer was still cursing quite prolifically. With a sigh and a certainty that he was going to regret this later, he closed his laptop and walked to the door, opening it to see Cipher kneeling, placing things back in the box that was tipped over on the floor. Everything was wrapped, but several of the items looked quite heavy and it was obvious that the box had already been straining under the weight.

 

Crouching down, Dipper picked up one of the items out of Cipher’s reach and went to put it in the box, only to have it snatched out of his hands.

 

“What are you doing?” There was suspicion in the blond’s tone as gold eyes stared into brown, looking for some ulterior motive there.

 

Holding up his hands in a show of surrender, Dipper gave a small, shy smile, “Just trying to help. I… heard you shout, and a crash. I thought you might have been hurt or something. And this looks rather heavy.”

 

“I don’t need your help, I don’t need _anyone’s_ help. My grip on the box slipped, is all,” as if the statement reminded him, Cipher looked down at his hands which were bandaged, though in places the gauze was coming undone, and in other places blood was soaking through. Dipper’s gaze followed Cipher’s and he gasped.

 

“What happened to your hands?”

 

Pulling them out of sight, Cipher looked away with a roll of his eyes, “They’re blistered. I’m learning and running a new routine, my hands aren’t used to it yet, they need new callouses. Pains of the trade.”

 

Dipper frowned but accepted the explanation before picking up the box, holding it carefully with both hands. It took him a grunt of effort to get it off the ground though, and he was amazed Cipher had been able to carry it. The box felt like it weighed more than the lithe dancer who was swiftly on his feet.

 

“Hey, give that back!”

 

“I’m just gonna help you carry it in. Your hands are bleeding through the bandages and I don’t think you want to risk tearing them any further or dropping whatever’s in this box.” Dipper tried to keep his face and voice as neutral as possible, a polite smile on his face.

 

Still looking more than a bit suspicious, Cipher rolled his eyes again before unlocking the door, “Whatever. Just put it on the dining table, I’ll deal with everything inside later.”

 

It wasn’t a long walk from the door to the dining room table, but from what he got, he saw that Cipher was fond of blacks and golds in his home life as well. He was quick to turn without staring after he set the box down, though, as Cipher was watching him with narrowed eyes, clearly displeased with his presence in the blond’s apartment.

 

On his way out, he turned, running a hand through his hair, “If you ever… I dunno, need anything else… don’t hesitate to just shout. I’m usually home, and I don’t want you hurting yourself or something.”

 

The dancer looked up at Dipper in confusion, visibly surprised, _“Why?”_

 

“Because we’re neighbors, and it’s the right thing to do. Is that so surprising?”

 

The emotion, swift as it had come, was gone again, carefully concealed between that condescending mask Cipher wore like a second skin, “Never you mind. I doubt I’ll be needing any help, I didn’t even need it today, you were just insistent.”

 

Shrugging, Dipper waved, walking across the hall to his door, “Whatever you say, offer’s still open, no matter what.”

 

The brunet heard the dancer’s door click closed just before his own, and once again he found himself sighing and resting against the door. At least, this time, he didn’t walk away from the exchange wanting to tear his hair out and hide.

 

Returning to his laptop, Dipper worked for another couple of hours, but more and more often he was drawn to the secret folder, more details added to the reference sheets, a couple more lines of dialogue jotted down for later use.

 

Around six o’clock, just as Dipper was beginning to feel hungry and consider where he wanted to order dinner from, the doorbell rang. Confused, Dipper took a moment in walking over, but when he looked through the peephole, there was no one there, nothing there aside from the tupperware containers on the floor.

 

The brunet opened the door and crouched down, the containers were tied together with gold ribbon and there was a piece of cardstock placed under the cord and held in place by it. Pulling it out, Dipper turned it over to see a scrawling cursive script.

 

_Pine Tree,_

_I’ve noticed you order take out a lot, and rarely seem to cook for yourself. It’s poor self-care to go so long without a home-cooked meal, and I happened to make a bit too much for myself tonight, so I saw fit to rectify it. I hope you like spaghetti bolognese. Please return the containers when you’re done- cleaned, preferably._

_Bill_

 

P.S. We’re even now.

 

In that moment, a myriad of thoughts crossed Dipper’s mind. First, Cipher knew he ordered takeout, which was slightly endearing to think that the dancer noticed things. Second, Cipher disapproved of that and had taken the time to write about it. Third, Cipher had cooked a meal and delivered it to his door this evening. And finally- and most importantly-, Cipher’s name was Bill.

 

Taking the containers into his apartment, Dipper closed the door behind him with a grin as he sat down, fork in hand.

 

“Bill, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dipper is gay and so am i


	3. Again and Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some bonds begin by the strangest of circumstances.

Dipper hadn’t seen or heard much of Bill since helping him carry in the box of stuff, but then, he hadn’t left his own apartment much. When inspiration struck, he couldn’t bear to leave his computer, typing madly away at the keyboard.

 

Sometimes it was for his sequel novel, but more often than not, it was _The Midas Touch_ that sparked his muse, pages upon pages unfolding under his fingers. It never came in order, though, but in scenes without connection. All of them were saved separately, waiting for the thread to connect them all, the plot that would give meaning to them all.

 

That plot, however, still escaped him.

 

The only interaction he’d had with his elusive, mysterious neighbour consisted of walking across the hall to return the tupperware containers. The food inside had been heavenly, so much so that Dipper had been sorry to see the bottoms of the containers. He could have eaten himself sick and still been content.

 

He’d hoped to tell Bill as much, to compliment him on his marvelous cooking, but when he’d washed the containers and boxed them up to be returned, the dancer either wasn’t home or was still asleep. Or ignoring him, that was an equally plausible explanation. Dipper had knocked at the door and rung the bell, but no response came, no noise sounded through the thin walls.

 

Sighing, he took out the letter he’d typed up just in case something occurred, leaving it atop the stacked containers in front of Bill’s door.

 

_Bill,_

_You might want to consider quitting your night job and opening a restaurant. That was delicious, I’m not even sure I know what it was, but I’ve never tasted anything better. Thank you for the meal, though you didn’t owe me anything._

_Dipper_

 

He’d returned to his apartment after that, though every hour or so he was drawn back to the door, checking through the peephole to see if the containers were still there. Each time it was, aside from the last sometime around five pm when suddenly they were gone, though Dipper hadn’t heard Bill come home. Perhaps he really had been asleep or in his room the whole time after all.

 

Dipper cursed himself for his crush that was quickly becoming an obsession that night as he made himself a bachelor’s dinner of simple pasta with store-bought red sauce. It was a better meal than he ate most nights, but it still paled in comparison to the meal he’d had the night before.

 

It also expended most of his available groceries, which meant he’d have to be making a trip to the store sometime in the near future, or living entirely off ramen noodles, and something told him that _somehow_ Bill would know and judge him for it. And he didn’t want that to happen.

 

And thus, he ended up spending his Thursday driving to the nearest grocery store, a list in hand. He knew what was _usually_ in his fridge back at home, and what he was capable of making for himself, so he’d built the list around that, mostly simple things like pancake mix and eggs and boxed macaroni and cheese, along with necessities like milk, butter, vegetables, and fruits. All in all, he thought he’d done a pretty good job in making the list.

 

It was with a proud smile that he made his way into the baking aisle, looking for the various boxed pancake mixes across from the flour and sugar associated with baking from scratch.

 

In his search, his eyes wandered to the shelves rather than in front of him, and he bumped into someone, stumbling forwards and tripping over where they were kneeling, both sprawling on the floor, “I’m _so_ sorry I didn’t see-” but the gold eyes that met his had Dipper cutting off mid-sentence, cheeks flushed.

 

Of _course_ he would run into _Bill_ of all people, and practically maul him over, at that.

 

“Morning to you too, Pine Tree. You know, most people take me out to dinner before they get that personal. It’s a matter of principle, manners and all that,” the sardonic smirk on Bill’s lips was all Dipper saw before he quickly sat up and got back to his feet, brushing his hands off before offering one to Bill, surely red to his ears.

 

The blond got up without his help, though, simply rising from the floor in a motion much more fluid and graceful than anything Dipper could possibly manage. One hand came up to fix a few strands of hair that had fallen out of place before Bill bent over again, grabbing the flour he’d come to the aisle for and putting it in his cart before turning to walk away, waving, “Catch you around, Pine Tree.”

 

Dipper was left breathless in the aisle for a moment longer, forgetting what he’d come to the aisle for, what he’d come to the store for before someone else brushed past him and he glanced down at the piece of paper still clutched in his hands.

 

_Right. Groceries._

 

Dipper found the energy drinks and boxed macaroni and cheese without incident, those aisles were well marked and easy to find, the second swarming with children deciding what shapes they wanted their noodles in. It was a cute sight to see, something that reminded him of growing up with Mabel. They’d never agreed on noodle shapes, but in the end, the mac and cheese always tasted just as good, no matter who won.

 

Those aside, Dipper was left with the necessities. He made his way to the dairy aisle, certain the eggs wouldn’t be far from there. And indeed, he was proven right, as they shared an aisle, one on either side.

 

And, in the middle, reaching up on his tip toes for the brown eggs on the top shelf, was Bill. The dancer was clearly straining to reach the shelf, designed for someone much taller than himself, and his shirt was riding up where it touched his stomach, showing a strip of pale skin and lean muscle and Dipper had to rip his eyes away, stepping over to grab the eggs without difficulty. Anything to get Bill to lean back down and keep Dipper’s mind of the gutter.

 

“Here. Why’d you need these eggs, anyway? There are plenty on… more accessible shelves.”

 

Golden eyes rolled in their sockets as Bill snatched the eggs from Dipper with a scoff, “You don’t understand. I prefer my eggs free-range, it improves the quality and nutritional value of the food I eat. And these happen to be my favourite sort. I was about to grab them myself, you giant oaf.”

 

Oh, Dipper knew just how close to reaching those eggs Bill had been, and how close he’d be to madness if he’d seen any more of that smooth torso with its fine dusting of hair. He _really_ wasn’t up for passing out from headrush and loss of blood in the middle of a grocery store, it was embarrassing enough when those images were called up in the darkness of his own room.

 

“It was no trouble, I needed to get eggs for myself anyway, and this was easier.”

 

“Whatever. Thanks. Here, in return, go with these eggs. They’re a little pricier than the ones you were going for, but they’ll taste much better. Promise.” And without further explanation, Bill was gone, pushing his cart with a swift sway to his hips. Dipper watched him go, mouth still open in confusion before he looked at the eggs Bill had placed in his hands and shrugged, putting them in his cart.

 

What could taking the recommendation hurt?

 

Eggs and milk acquired, all that remained was the produce and various frozen dinners for when he didn’t feel like putting any effort into cooking. The produce was closer, so he headed that way first, trying to decide what he wanted.

 

“Starting to think you’re stalking me, Pine Tree. It’s a little weird.” The cool voice sounded from beside him and Dipper jumped, shaken from his reverie. He looked to his left, seeing Bill leaning against a crate of bananas, in the process of examining a bundle for any signs of bruising.

 

“N-no! Not at all.. I’m just… following my list, is all.” In defense, Dipper held up the list and Bill promptly snatched it from his hands, holding the paper elegantly in slim fingers.

 

A chuckle escaped him and he shook his head at some of the items, but the rest were quite acceptable, “At this rate, we might as well finish our shopping together to avoid running into each other at every turn. It’s beginning to get annoying.”

 

The suggestion surprised Dipper but he nodded, agreeing without words and he fell into step beside Bill, each pushing their carts and grabbing what they felt they needed. Bill’s cart was considerably more filled with various fruits and vegetables, likely ingredients for whatever he was planning to cook.

 

“....Should we condense carts? So we’re not taking up so much space? Because I agree on the whole walking together rather than running into each other thing, but this is a bit ridiculous.” Dipper’s whole body was anxious at his own suggestion, worried Bill would scoff and walk off again, but the blond shrugged nonchalantly.

 

“Sure, if you like. But that means you’re pushing the cart, I’m not going to be pushing around extra stuff,” Bill was already looking at apples, placing them in a bag and into his cart as he responded, leaving Dipper to transfer his groceries into Bill’s cart, trying to separate them in some way.

 

With the produce all selected, much more carefully in Bill’s case than in Dipper’s, there was only one place left on Dipper’s list, “...You mind walking over to the frozen food aisle? I’ve got some things to pick up there.”

 

“Hmm? Oh, no, that’s fine.” Bill was examining his fingernails, clearly done with his own shopping and uninterested, and Dipper let the question die off, walking toward the aisle. It seemed, though, that Bill did have a topic he wished to pursue, “What do you do all day, cooped up in your room?”

 

Surprised, Dipper looked over at Bill, shrugging with a small smile, “Work. I’m a writer, and inspiration strikes me at odd hours, so I find it’s best to spend as much time near my computer as possible, in case an idea comes to me. When I’m not home, I keep a journal with me to jot things down in so I don’t lose them later.”

 

For the first time, Dipper thought he saw a glimmer of interest in golden eyes as Bill tilted his head before the expression was schooled back again, “A writer? How… different. What do you write, exactly? Anything I might have heard of?”

 

“Oh, just novels mostly. I used to write poems and articles for journals, but since getting published, I’ve settled on the mystery genre, mostly. But I’ve only got one book out at the moment, I’m working on a sequel,” _and something else,_ his mind finished before his mouth could speak the words. The last person who needed to learn of his harlequin embarrassment was the man who’d inspired it.

 

There it was again, that glimmer of intrigue, this time paired with the smallest of smirks turning up the dancer’s mouth, “Hmm. I’ve always been fond of detective stories. I like the suspense involved. I’ll have to look around for yours.”

 

“O-oh, no, you don’t have to do that… I’m no big name author, just a first work newbie…. I’ll lend you one of my copies, I still have some from the publisher… you don’t have to go out and buy it or anything,” Dipper’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth, stumbling over his words as he tried to find them, shocked that Bill had shown such interest.

 

A giggling laugh escaped the man beside him, a sound Dipper hadn’t heard before, and he looked over just in time to see a hint of the grin that tugged at Bill’s lips as he shook his head, “Whatever you say, Pine Tree. I’m reading it one way or another. It’s been a while since I sat down and read something, it’ll be fun.”

 

“A-alright. I’ll… I’ll bring one by tomorrow or something, whenever you’re around.”

 

“Tomorrow should be lovely, any time after noon, of course. Late nights make for late mornings, I’m afraid.”

 

Laughing, Dipper shrugged, feeling a tad bit more at ease, “I understand that. Some days I’m up quite late writing.”

 

They’d reached the frozen foods aisle now and Dipper was consumed in looking at the various microwave dinners that Bill turned his nose up at. The blond walked away, apparently unable to stand in the presence of such fake food for long periods of time, and it wasn’t until Dipper exited the aisle that he caught sight of Bill again, leaning against the side of a rack.

 

“Done choosing your processed foodstuffs, then?”

 

Dipper rolled his eyes, shrugging, “We can’t all be five-star chefs.”

 

For a moment, there was an unreadable expression in Bill’s eyes, something Dipper hadn’t seen before, but then it was gone behind a small smile, “No, I suppose we all can’t.”

 

The groceries were divided up when they got into line, placed on the conveyor belt with a bar in between them to prevent as much mixing as they could. Bill went first, almost all of his groceries fitting into an assortment of reusable bags, though some of them were left out and had to be placed in plastic bags.

 

On the other hand, all of Dipper’s groceries ended up in logo’d plastic bags, as he didn’t own a single one of those reusable bags, and instead horded plastic bags under his sink, a habit he’d picked up from his parents.

 

Dipper was already pushing the cart filled with their groceries to the parking lot when Bill stopped him, reaching for his bags.

 

“I’ll walk these to your car, it’s no trouble for me to walk an extra couple hundred feet or whatever.”

 

Bill snorted, shaking his head, “I don’t drive. I don’t have the means nor the ability. I’m gonna walk home.”

 

A single glance at the groceries in the cart told Dipper that would not be a pleasant experience for Bill, no matter how strong he was. Sighing, he kept pushing the cart, causing Bill to run after him, “I’m driving back to the apartments anyway, I’ll just give you a lift. It’s not like we’re going to different places.”

 

Gold eyes narrowed, looking at Dipper with suspicion, “...Why?”

 

“Because walking home carrying those is a punishment you don’t deserve, and as I said, I’m going home anyway. We might not be friends, but we’re neighbors and I’d like to be a good one.”

 

The dancer’s expression was clearly still suspicious but he bit his lip before sighing and helping load the groceries into the car before slipping into the passenger seat, “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

 

Dipper looked over at Bill with confusion before shaking his head, “No… why?”

 

“No reason.”

 

And that was the end of conversation for the entirety of the ride home, Bill staring out the passenger window until they pulled into the parking lot, immediately exiting and grabbing his groceries out of the car bag by bag.

 

“... Thank you for the ride home. See you around, Pine Tree.”

 

“Yeah… see you around! And don’t mention it.”

 

Despite the clear weight, Bill picked up all of the groceries with a flourish and made his way through the door into the complex. After a good five minutes of staring in the direction he’d gone, a smile on his face, Dipper followed, his own groceries in hand.

 

* * *

 

 

Dipper knew, on a vague time table, when Bill left and returned home every night. Usually, the dancer was out his front door shortly before seven pm, though some days that was pushed back or forward, likely depending on when and what he was performing that night- Dipper hadn’t gone back to the club to prove his hypothesis.

 

No matter what time he left, Bill always returned sometime around midnight, footsteps soft on the carpeted flooring, and slid into his room. If Dipper was close enough to the door, or if he happened to step out into the hallway, he could hear soft music filtering out from Bill’s room after that, always piano or violins, until some time a couple of hours later when all went silent and Dipper presumed the dancer had gone to bed.

 

Tonight, though, was a different story.

 

Shortly after midnight, two pairs of feet made their way down the hallway, footfalls more rushed and heavier than usual, a bit of stumbling evident. There was a dull thump, something hitting the wall or the door, perhaps, and a pair of breathy laughs, one Dipper immediately recognised as Cipher’s with a blossom of heat in his stomach, before the door across the hall unlatched and closed again.

 

Tonight, there was no piano or violin, no soothing sounds into the night.

 

About an hour later, though, the door across the hall opened again and one pair of footsteps, not Bill’s, made their way back down the hallway to the exit.

 

Seated against the door, journal in hand, Dipper couldn’t help the flash of jealous heat in his heart. He knew it was unfounded, he had no claim on the man across the hall, had no control over who Bill brought home to bed, but he couldn’t help but feel more than a little aggravated. Someone had the chance to be with Bill… and had left not an hour later.

 

It seemed like an opportunity wasted.

 

Despite himself, Dipper stood, looking through the peephole at Bill’s door for some sort of answer. All he found, though, was red glitter smeared across the white paint, gold flecks intermixed, and a deeper jealous fire in the pit of his stomach.

 

That night, Dipper fell asleep with dark images in his head, Cipher grinning down at a nameless body, whispering sweet nothings in his ear while Dipper watched, mindlessly envious and aroused despite that.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm VERY EXCITED for the person who's being sort of introduced here jsyk


	4. Taste of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meal, a dance, and a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm trash and couldn't help myself, here's the next chapter

When Dipper awoke the next morning, it was with a knot in his stomach and sweat beaded on his brow. His mind had made certain that the events of the night prior were not forgotten, though he did not know the details of Cipher’s tryst across the hall. The only real images he had were the glitter splashed across the white of the door and the sound of breathy laughter.

 

And the smirk he remembered from that night at the club, white teeth flashing.

 

Cipher’s smirk was ravenous, and he was certain whoever had joined him last night had been on the receiving end of that very look.

 

Trying to shake himself from the heated, jealous thoughts, Dipper stepped into the shower, turning it on and setting about his morning routine. He’d woken a bit later than usual today, exhausted by his restless sleep, but that didn’t change the fact that he had new notes to add to his hidden folder, more details to be woven into the secret harlequin novel sometime down the line.

 

With a disparaging groan, Dipper pressed his face against the tiles of the bathroom wall, trying to push the imagined images from his head and clear his mood. It wouldn’t do him any good to mope about just because Bill brought someone home last night- it was probably a regular occurrence.

 

But some part of him could not accept that. In his deepest thoughts, Dipper truly believed Bill deserved something more than an hour stolen in the dead of night, even if that turned out to be what he preferred. But, Dipper also knew his own opinions were of no consequence as Bill’s… friend? No, they weren’t quite that close yet….. Acquaintance, perhaps.

 

Half an hour of berating himself under the hot water later, Dipper emerged from the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and stepping out into the sitting room to put a pot of coffee on. On his way to the kitchen, however, he was stopped by a white square out of place on his floor.

 

Just in front of the door, clearly slid underneath, was a white envelope, folded rather than sealed, with his name written on it in the lilting script he was already beginning to recognise as Bill’s. Holding his towel with one hand, Dipper leant over and picked up the envelope, looking it over for a moment.

 

It was made of high-quality, embossed paper with gold ink designs around the corners, and when Dipper opened it, an equally ornate piece of cardstock slid out.

 

_Pine Tree,_   
  


_In return for your kind efforts in assisting me at the supermarket yesterday, I cordially invite you to dinner this evening. No RSVP is necessary, simply arrive promptly at six o’clock if you wish to eat. If you do not, this offer alone will serve as my recompense._

_Bill_

_P.S. If you’re coming, don’t forget a copy of that book of yours._

 

The note was inked in glossy black cursive, the kind of handwriting that Dipper had aspired to have back in school but could never achieve. Elegant without being overly so, it gave of an air of nonchalance while still showing that Bill cared enough to write the invitation by hand.

 

Dipper might not know Bill all that well, but somehow, that very notion seemed very much like his neighbour, a detached sense of caring.

 

Setting the invitation on his kitchen counter, Dipper finally set about making that pot of coffee with a smile, spirits entirely lifted from earlier that morning. The brunet whistled through his morning routine, looking at the day with a new sort of optimism.

 

What did one hour the evening prior compare to a personal invitation to dinner? Dipper’s jealousies seemed outrageous to him now with the promise of more time spent in the dancer’s company.

 

Dressed and ready for the day, Dipper sat down at his laptop and began to type, turning out a couple of pages for the sequel before switching folders and opening   _The Midas Touch,_ jotting down a few notes in his character reference sheets before beginning work on a bridge between two of the scenes. The overarching plot still escaped him, but at least he had inspiration for a device to further the story.

 

Making friends was never bad, was it?

 

Soon enough, the author lost himself in his work, switching between scene work and editing reference sheets, looking up images and reading articles to educate himself on the subject. Dipper was a firm believer in extensive research for his projects, the more accurate his content was, the more likely it would be to entrap the reader and keep them locked in the fantasy.

 

As the hours ticked by, though, Dipper was less and less able to keep himself focused. Brown eyes flickered to the clock in the corner of his screen, each minute that passed a minute closer to his dinner with Bill. It wasn’t a date, he knew that, and yet his heart was racing like it hadn’t since his sister had pressured him into taking one of their classmates out to prom senior year.

 

By five thirty, Dipper couldn’t sit still anymore and thus he wandered into his room, looking at himself in the mirror on the door of his closet. His hair was as tame as it ever would be, brushed- as ever- over the birthmark on his forehead. His outfit consisted of a red and black flannel thrown over a pair of dark washed jeans, and he knew if he tried changing now to look more presentable, he would never make it in time, so that would have to do. With a sigh, he tugged at his hair one last time, trying to calm the nerves in his stomach.

 

“It’s not a date, Dipper. Not a date.” But his own words didn’t change the fact that he was preening like he was getting ready for one, didn’t stop the butterflies fluttering in his stomach as he walked out of his door shortly before six.

 

With the few minutes remaining, Dipper tried to calm himself, taking several deep breaths in the hallway and clutching the publisher’s advance copy of his novel to his chest. It was just a dinner between neighbours, between acquaintances. They would eat and make small talk and it would be over, that was it.

 

A final deep breath and Dipper was knocking on the door, three quick, sharp raps of his knuckles against the wood. It took all of his effort not to focus on the glitter there, he wasn’t going to let last night dampen his mood, not when Bill seemed so keen to have him over.

 

When the dancer opened the door, Dipper instantly felt a bit better about not changing into something fancy. Bill was wearing a tank top and a pair of yoga pants slung low over his hips, clothes that would be easy to change out of when it came time for Bill to go to work.

 

And it was obvious that he had work tonight, with the winged eyeliner already finished, gold eyeshadow overlaying his eyes. It was even more striking up close and without the glaze of alcohol in his mind, and Dipper had to tear his eyes away to keep from staring, “H-hello, Bill.”

 

“C’mon in, Pine Tree. I’m just finishing up dinner, make yourself at home at the table, any seat you like.” Bill waved a hand to the table in question, circular with a deep gold tablecloth, a white cloth over that for contrast. It looked like something out of a restaurant advertisement, silverware set and napkins folded as Dipper sat down and took a look around.

 

Bill’s apartment wasn’t all too different from his own, a couch and a television occupying some space in the sitting area, but the largest visible difference was the sound system underneath the TV, sophisticated and connected to an mp3 player of some sort. There was music playing in the background now, just loud enough to be heard, easier when Bill hummed or sang along, swaying his hips as he cooked.

 

Once again, Dipper caught himself staring at the dancer and had to rip his eyes away, looking to the mantle instead and noting that there were a few photos there, though none he could discern from this distance. The brunet made himself a note to look at those more closely the next time he was here.

 

.. Next time? Was he already planning to be invited back?

 

_Getting a bit ahead of yourself, Dipper. You and Bill aren’t friends… yet._

 

There was a bit of hope to his thoughts as he looked around again, eyes wandering back to Bill who was still dancing to himself in the kitchen. There was something of his performance in the way he moved, but Dipper could see this was entirely different. There was a freeform to this, none of the commanding aura Cipher had given off that night.

 

It was almost like looking at an entirely different person, though it was no less alluring.

 

Thankfully, for the sake of Dipper’s sanity and maintaining his composure, Bill finished cooking shortly after, grabbing two plates and piling them high with rice pilaf and what looked to be lamb. For an entirely different reason now, Dipper’s mouth was nearly watering as the dancer brought the plates over with a sway to his step, placing one in front of Dipper.

 

“Normally I’d have mint sauce to offer you, but I forgot to pick up fresh mint leaves yesterday, so I’m afraid I couldn’t make any. My apologies.”

 

Bill sat in the chair opposite him, unfolding his napkin and placing it in his lap before uncorking the bottle of wine in the center of the table, offering it to Dipper and pouring the brunet a glass when Dipper nodded before serving himself the same.

 

“It’s no trouble, Bill. This is more than enough, and it looks plenty delicious without mint sauce.” Dipper was quick to quiet any concerns Bill might have, the scent of the meat and rice was flooding his senses and he was certain it wouldn’t need any additional seasoning. If it tasted half as good as it smelled, it would be the best thing he’d ever eaten.

 

Smirking, the dancer shrugged before taking a sip of his wine and gesturing toward his plate, “Go ahead, then, eat. I didn’t cook all day so you could stare at the food. Or me, for that matter.” And the blond chuckled at the flush that coloured Dipper’s cheeks before cutting into his own meat, taking a bite with a pleased hum.

 

Dipper was red to his ears, of that he was certain, and he was glad to take a bite, if only for an excuse not to talk. He sliced a piece of the lamb from the bone before placing it in his mouth.

 

If he denied moaning softly at the flavours that melted in his mouth, Dipper Pines would brand himself a liar for the rest of his life. His eyes slipped closed, the low half-moan half-hum escaping him as he chewed the meat, letting the flavour fill his mouth before he swallowed.

 

Somehow, it tasted _better_ than it smelled.

 

“That good, huh? I hear those noises a lot, but not often because of food,” there was a grin on Bill’s face and Dipper could see he was teasing, but the brunet couldn’t help but flush again, coughing and reaching for his glass of wine to clear his throat.

 

Composing himself, Dipper smiled sheepishly, “It’s delicious, really. I… I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything this good.”

 

And all teasing comments aside, it was obvious that Dipper’s praise was appreciated, the grin on Bill’s face softening to something more grateful for a moment, something more personal, before Bill simply laughed it off, shrugging, “I do my best.”

 

“Your best is better than most, I’d say.”

 

Another laugh and Bill was back into his food, inhaling the rice pilaf with rather alarming voracity. Dipper couldn’t help but wonder if the blond’s stomach was a black hole of some sort, a portal to another dimension, because he couldn’t see how someone so small could possibly eat so much without getting sick,

 

Catching his eye, Bill snorted and waved to his torso, “Concerned, Pine Tree? Do you know how physically taxing what I do is? Don’t you worry your pretty little head, I’ll burn each and every calorie I eat tonight, by _some means_ or another.”

 

Dipper was certain some god, somewhere, was testing him with all of Bill’s flirtations. Or perhaps the test was from Bill himself, and Dipper wasn’t sure he was passing, still flushed from the series of comments.

 

Rather than respond, Dipper took Bill’s lead in digging into the meal. The rice pilaf was just as good as the lamb, hearty and filling without feeling heavy in his stomach, and the flavours complimented whatever Bill had used in seasoning the lamb perfectly. The wine, too, was well suited to the meal, smooth on his tongue and swift to burn through the worst of his anxieties as the two ate in companionable silence, the only sounds the clink of silverware and the music filtering over from the sound system on the wall.

 

Bill finished first, picking up his wine glass and downing the rest of it in one go, throat expanding and contracting with the swallowing motion and Dipper was beginning to lose track of the number of times he’d caught himself staring, heat flaring in his stomach.

 

How did Bill manage to make _every little action_ attractive somehow?

 

Taking his dishes, Bill rose in a fluid motion, hips swaying in time to the music which was considerably faster and more charged than it had been when Dipper first walked in. Whatever playlist was on now seemed to be some sort of progression, and if the deep baseline thrumming under this song was any indicator, it was nearing its end. And it seemed Bill was much more into the music now, singing along to the chorus when it came on, eyes slipping closed as he spun in circles in the kitchen.

 

Pole or not, Bill was a superb dancer, hips swinging and circling with ease, not a single choppy motion in the entire dance, though it seemed entirely improvised. Bill was fluid, a liquid creature that couldn’t help but draw Dipper’s eye, a smile on the dancer’s face as he lost himself in the dance.

 

Before his eyes, Bill was becoming Cipher, and Dipper was finding it difficult to maintain his composure.

 

Finishing his own plate, Dipper stood up and adjusted his clothes before joining Bill in the kitchen, clearing his throat, “Aa-um, where do these go, exactly?”

 

Gold eyes slipped open and there was a hint of that sultry edge Dipper remembered in them as Bill’s mouth stretched into a smirk and he reached up to take the plates from Dipper, leaning in a bit too close for comfort, “Let me take care of it, Pine Tree.”

 

And hell if that voice wasn’t breathier than it had been half an hour ago, Dipper had no hope of quieting the fire in his belly and the catch in his breath.

 

Dipper leant against the counter, trying to look at anything and everything that wasn’t Bill in an effort to save face and prevent himself from falling to his knees in Bill’s kitchen. Somehow he doubted the blond would appreciate that, no matter how kind his intentions. Despite himself, though, his eyes flickered back to the dancer from time to time, watching as he leant up on his toes in time to the music, putting away cleaned dishes and shaking his hair back from his face.

 

Bill finished his cleaning just as the song came to a close and he turned with a smirk on his face, his eyes somehow a darker shade of gold, though it may have simply been an illusion created by the clear dilation of his pupils, “I do so hate to cut our evening short, Pine Tree, but I’m afraid if I linger much longer, I’ll be late, and I just can’t have that.”

 

“O-oh, right! Yes, of course, I’ll be going, sorry to keep you,” Dipper was tripping over his words and his feet as he tried to get to Bill’s door as quickly as possible, though a hand found his waist, stopping him as a chuckle sounded behind him, lower than Bill’s usual laugh.

 

“Don’t run away so quickly now, you’ll hurt my _feelings._ Almost makes me feel as if you want to get away from me….” The hurt in Bill’s voice was overdramatic, clearly a facade as he came around to stand in front of Dipper, hand trailing around the brunet’s spine before being pulled away just as a shiver chased it, the brunet’s skin on fire where Bill’s hand had been, “You didn’t let me finish. Due to my… poor sleeping schedule, I started my cheesecake terribly late, and thus, it’s still cooling. It won’t be ready until well into my show, so I cannot offer you a piece now-”

 

“That’s fine! You don’t need to offer me anything else, the meal was delicio-”

 

Before he could finish, a slim finger was covering his lips, that grin flickering on Bill’s lips again, “You really should let me finishing my sentences, kid. I was _saying,_ that while I can’t offer you any now, it will be done when I get home, should you still be awake, you’re welcome to come over and have a slice.”

 

Freezing, Dipper felt that same warmth clench at his chest before he realised Bill was waiting for an answer and he nodded, grinning, “Yeah… yeah, I’ll definitely be awake… I’ll see you then,” This time, Dipper stopped himself from walking out the door, picking up his book from the counter and opening it, scrawling his phone number on the inside cover page, “Just… text me when you’re home? So I know when to come over.”

 

Taking the book from Dipper’s hands, Bill nodded with a smile, “Will do, Pine Tree. Try not to have too much fun while I’m at work, would you?”

 

“I’ll try my hardest, but you know me. Always throwing parties.”

 

Both of them were laughing at that comment as Dipper walked across the hall with a final wave to Bill, the bright sound replaying in his head after the door closed.

 

Bill’s laugh was beautiful.

* * *

 

Shows were always much the same to Cipher. It was an easy task, captivating the audience, and it always had been. Even when he’d first started and could barely maintain his balance in his dances, his looks had been more than enough to draw eyes and tips. Sometimes, it really did pay to be born with a beauty that men coveted.

 

He’d chosen a good occupation to be beautiful in.

 

Hands crossed over his chest, his own and those of his fellow dancers, and Cipher grinned at each and every touch, mouth opening in gasps and breathy spouts of laughter. More than once, he took a turn in his dance and arched into one of his partners without warning, their skin pressing together for a moment before Cipher was twirling away again, the only trace of his presence the gold glitter on his partner’s skin.

 

By the end of the evening, Cipher’s own skin was awash with colours, the glitter clinging to him like a second skin and falling from his hair as he ran a hand through it, brushing it back from where it clung to his face, temples drenched with sweat.

 

Gold eyes examined his face in the mirror, brushing some of the glitter away from the corners of his eyes where it could do damage. He didn’t mind the vestigial glitter, but one too many run ins with the treacherous substance that made his show told him that glitter in his eye was an unpleasant experience.

 

So focused was he that he did not hear the footsteps behind him before an arm slipped around his waist, curling around his hips. Another hand wandered up his side and over his chest, nails lightly pressing into the skin. Lips were already kissing up his neck when Cipher looked up in the mirror, catching sight of black and red hair gelled up into a falling faux hawk.

 

Blaine’s lips found his ear with ease, breath washing over Cipher’s skin as he whispered against it, “I had a _lovely_ time last night, Cipher, was wondering if you’d consider an encore this evening… perhaps at somewhere a tad more… secluded?”

 

A chuckle wound its way up from Cipher’s stomach and he slipped out from under the taller dancer’s hands, a grin on his face, “A tempting offer, as always, Phoenix, but I’m afraid I’m already booked for the evening. Ask a bit earlier next time, and you might get your wish.”

 

The use of his stage name told Blaine that Cipher was serious and he pulled away with a sigh, frowning minutely, “Maybe I will. Someone catch your eye in the crowd?”

 

The question didn’t seem important enough to deign an answer, so Cipher simply shrugged his shoulders, waving a hand vaguely.

 

“Lucky boy, then. Enjoy yourself, Cipher.”

 

“The same to you, Phoenix. The same to you.”

 

And with that, Blaine grabbed his coat and left the club’s dressing rooms, a dark expression crossing his face for a moment as Cipher turned back to the mirror, dressing himself in his simple clothes again and grabbing his phone to send a text to Dipper.

 

[text to: Pine Tree:] Should be home and ready within the hour. Have to shower first. See you around 1?

 

Before he’d even set the phone down, it vibrated in his hand and he swept his finger over the screen to read the message.

 

[text from: Pine Tree] Sounds good to me. Can’t wait to try that cheesecake.

 

With that, Cipher slid the phone into his back pocket and collected his things, trying to ignore the unfamiliar bubbling in his chest that was appearing again, as it had earlier today and the day before, the feeling that Dipper seemed to summon up somehow.

 

It was unfamiliar and not unpleasant, but he wasn’t sure how to handle it, and thus, it was best left alone.

* * *

 

Back in his own apartment, Dipper was staring at his phone with a grin on his face, the same fluttering in his chest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> introducing: red glitter boy


	5. Late Night Chats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insomnia comes in handy when your neighbour runs on a nocturnal work schedule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three chapters in three days CAN YOU TELL I'M IN HELL

The cheesecake Bill made was absolutely delicious, and he’d pressed the rest of it into Dipper’s hands as the brunet stumbled out of his door just before sunrise, a smile on his face.

 

“Don’t let it go to waste, Pine Tree. I made it for you, after all. I want you to enjoy it.”

 

Combined with sleep deprivation and the light wine they’d been drinking with the cheesecake, the comment brought a flush to Dipper’s cheeks and he grinned, nodding and giving a mock salute, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Bill. I’ll bring your spring pan back, promise.”

 

“Spring _form_ pan, you big oaf. But really, you’d better. I’m not above breaking into your place to get it back,” And Bill’s laugh rang out in the space between them, light and teasing.

 

Tongue more loose than usual, Dipper shrugged his shoulders, “I wouldn’t mind that. You can come over whenever if you want to. But I’d appreciate knocking before breaking and entering. Friends don’t have to break and enter.”

 

Bill laughed again, patting the taller man’s shoulder and shoving him out the door, “Go get some sleep, Pine Tree. You’re talking nonsense.”

 

Bill Cipher didn’t have friends, _couldn’t_ have friends… could he?

 

* * *

 

 

Dipper didn’t see Bill for a few days after that, though occasionally he heard music drifting over from the apartment across the hall. He noticed that he recognised the songs now, having heard them more closely at dinner, and the playlist was almost always the same.

 

That detail was filed away as something to think over, something to maybe ask about some day, if he and Bill were ever actually friends.

 

Some days, Dipper was sorely tempted to follow Bill down to the club, to wait in that line and sit in the back where Cipher couldn’t see him and just watch. Center act or not, Dipper knew Cipher would put on a good show, and he could write it off as research for his novel… But each time, Dipper talked himself out of it.

 

Somehow it felt like a betrayal, going to see Bill at work without an invitation now that he knew him in another context. It was clear that Bill kept his work like and home life quite separate, and Dipper didn’t want to infringe on that and risk straining their newfound almost-friendship. So instead, Dipper was left to theorise just what Bill did during the hours he was out of the house, wondering who he danced with tonight, and if anyone was lucky enough to be treated the way he was that first, fateful night.

 

Needless to say, that was an unproductive train of thought for the writer, ending with him breathless and flushed or green with envy, writing abandoned in favour of listening for the dancer’s return, wondering if another pair of footsteps would follow him.

 

But each night, around midnight, Bill returned on his own and closed and locked his door, the violin music already filtering down the hall as Dipper settled back at his desk, tapping at the desk.

 

In a strange sort of ritual, every night, about an hour into Dipper’s musing, his phone would go off, a text notification. Some nights, they came in quick succession, one after another.

 

Bill was reading his book and sending Dipper his reactions in real time.

 

[text from: Bill] Four pages in and we’ve already got a murder? Now that’s what I call pacing.  
[text from: Bill] A skeevy bar for our young detective, hmm? He better be careful you can meet some real dangerous folks in places like that.

 

Sometimes, Dipper answered the texts seriously, and other times, he couldn’t hold in the laughter back, replying with more than a bit of amusement in his texts.

 

[text to: Bill] Yeah. Real dangerous types. Sometimes there are dancers in clubs, and those are the worst of all.

 

[text from: Bill] Naturally. Because you don’t expect anything. One second they’re in your lap and the next they’re at your throat and you’re not sure if you should be terrified or turned on.

 

It took Dipper a moment to reply to that text, mouth dry and a strange heat in his stomach. He’d never felt so attracted to the concept of his mortality, never found the concept of such a swift transition to danger quite so arousing. But perhaps it was because of the mental image that accompanied Bill’s words, Cipher settled across his thighs, leaning into him with a knife at his throat, a grin splitting his face.

 

Terrifying and beautiful indeed.

 

[text to: Bill] ...Yeah, I’ll… remember that. If I ever write a club scene again.

 

[text from: Bill] Glad I could be of help, Pine Tree!

 

And that was the end for then, Dipper just staring at his phone in a mixture of disbelief and frustration before stepping away from his laptop and making his way to the shower, turning on the iciest water he could coax forth and sitting under it for a moment, trying to banish the images from his mind.

 

Usually, Bill texted him at night while the classical music still strummed out from his sound system, and Dipper was flattered to know that his book was becoming a part of Bill’s cool down routine- as the dancer had called it when he’d had Dipper over for dessert earlier in the week. The dancer came home from work on a bit of a high, still hyped up from work, and if he ever wanted to sleep, he needed to calm down before trying. That was the purpose the music served, and, now, apparently, his book served as well.

 

[text from: Bill] If you kill off the junior detective I’m coming across the hall and smacking you.  
[text from: Bill] THAT’S IT. PREPARE YOURSELF TO GET BEAT NEXT TIME I SEE YOU FACE TO FACE, PINE TREE.

 

Dipper couldn’t help but snort at that, nearly choking on his sip of tea at the threatening text. He could almost hear it in Bill’s voice, the smaller man yelling at him from across the hall.

 

[text to: Bill] You’ve gotta be able to reach me first, Bill.

 

[text from: Bill] YOU’VE FALLEN FAR ENOUGH, DIPPER PINES. YOU HAVE FALLEN FAR ENOUGH WITH THIS.

 

[text to: Bill] ;) enjoy the rest.

 

[text from: Bill] What the fuck does that mean? What are you doing to these poor boys???

 

Dipper opted not to respond to that, a smirk on his face as he got a series of progressively angrier and less coherent texts, ending with a picture message that he opened, smirk widening into a grin.

 

The picture was of a hand, clearly Bill’s if the gold nail polish was any indicator, flipping him the bird with aggression. The caption completed the amusing image, a stern and capitalised ‘FUCK. YOU.’

 

[text to: Bill] Buy me dinner first, then we’ll talk.

 

[text from: Bill] -_-

 

That had been the end of the conversation for the night, but Dipper had fallen asleep with a smile on his face, amused and flattered at how invested his neighbour seemed in his book. The anxieties he hadn’t even realised he had over Bill approving of it melted away in the face of the dancer’s reactions.

 

Though Bill hadn’t described the events in detail, Dipper know his own book well enough to know that Bill was nearing the end, and Dipper couldn’t wait until the dancer got there. If he’d reacted so strongly to the middle of the book, Dipper could only imagine what the cliffhanger would do to Bill.

 

His answer came at two am a couple of days later, a shrill noise sounding from his phone and interrupting his musing.

 

[text from: Bill] YOU’RE PROBABLY ASLEEP BUT HOW DARE YOU.  
[text from: Bill] HE’S DEAD. HE CAN’T BE THE VILLAIN. HE CAN’T BE THE MURDERER, YOU ALREADY KILLED HIM.  
[text from: Bill] Please tell me you’ve written the second book.

 

Picking up his phone, Dipper grinned down at the screen before composing his text, any thoughts of sleep banished now.

 

[text to: Bill] Wrong, I’m awake.  
[text to: Bill] Is he? I guess you’ll just have to find out….  
[text to: Bill] Not in its entirety. I’m working on it now, though.

 

[text from: Bill] You’re awake? Damn man go to sleep.  
[text from: Bill] Actually, don’t. Come over here and have a cup of tea and TELL ME ABOUT BOOK TWO.

 

Dipper was almost certain the text was meant as a command, not a request, and he was sure if he didn’t agree, the dancer would be at his door knocking and demanding the same, so he closed his laptop and placed it in his bookbag, grabbing his keys and his phone before heading out and across the hall.

 

The door opened before he could even knock, Bill standing before him with the tips of his hair wet and curling in at his temples. The dancer was wearing a tank top and a pair of loose harem pants, relaxing clothes if Dipper had ever seen them, and the novel was clutched in his hand. Bill’s face, however, was far from relaxed.

 

“How could you do this to me?”

 

Dipper laughed, stepping into the apartment as Bill ushered him in, the dancer gesturing for Dipper to sit, “I had to keep people hooked. I do this for a living, you know, I depend on people buying and reading my books. So if that means leaving everyone hanging until I finish the next one, so be it.”

 

As Dipper sat down, Bill set about making tea, placing the kettle on the stove and setting up the teabags in mugs, leaning over the counter to glare at Dipper where he sat, eyes narrowed, “You’re evil, you know that? First book I’ve read in months and it leaves me hanging. I can’t believe this.”

 

“Yes, well, you do have one advantage over the rest of my readers: you have full access to pester the author at all hours. As you can see, I write late into the night because I don’t sleep well most nights.”

 

Dipper watched a bit of a smirk touch Bill’s lips, the blond clearly pleased by being different from the rest as he poured the water into the mugs, bringing one to Dipper before sitting on the opposite side of the couch, legs curled underneath him, “True, I suppose. Are you always up this late writing?”

 

The mug was warm in his hands, the tea still steaming and too hot to drink, so Dipper just watched it for a moment, nodding, “Usually, yes. I’ll pass out around four or so if I end up sleeping at all.”

 

A snort escaped the dancer and he shook his head, “Here I’d been worried about waking you all of this time when I could have been texting you far later into the night. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, it takes me quite a while to wind down enough to fall asleep.”

 

There was a moment of silence, each of them slowly sipping the tea that had just begun to cool enough to drink, before Bill leant over, a glint in his eye.

 

“So, about pestering the author for details.... Mind if I get started on that now? I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow in return….” Bill’s voice trailed off tantalisingly, clearly trying to sweeten the deal as he looked across the couch at Dipper.

 

With a sigh, Dipper took his laptop out of its bag, booting it up and opening up the folder full of references and notes for the sequel, “I suppose I can afford to give you a few pieces, in return for a meal.”

 

Gold eyes focused on the laptop and suddenly Bill was beside him rather than across from him on the couch, leaning over to see the screen, so close that their knees bumped when Dipper moved his legs to better accommodate the laptop.

 

As Bill read the notes Dipper pulled up for him to see, his expression shifted to something the brunet had never seen before, but wanted to see again. Bill was entirely focused, gears working behind those gold eyes as he worried his lips, trying to put together a bigger picture from the pieces Dipper was giving him.

 

Two cups of tea and a sunrise later, Bill was tossing Dipper a blanket and wishing him a good morning before stumbling off to his own room with a promise of breakfast when the brunet awoke.

 

Curled up on Bill’s couch, Dipper fell asleep faster than he had in years.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back to the sin next chapter this chapter was just some gays


	6. A Delicate Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill invites Dipper to a special night at the club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we have the sin

After that, things swiftly fell into a routine that surprised Dipper as much as it pleased him. During the day, the dancer and the author usually went their separate ways- though Bill had apparently decided that tagging along for grocery trips was easier than going on his own, and thus Dipper found himself scheduling trips to the store. Needless to say, he was going to the grocery store much more often than he used to.

 

But, he was buying less food, so there was always that.

 

Evenings were spent together, Bill usually slipping a note under his door or shooting him a text to invite him over. The dancer was particularly fond of trying out new recipes he’d found online or in the magazines he picked up on impulse at the checkout, and liked to have a second opinion on the dishes. Thus, Dipper spent nearly every night at Bill’s apartment for dinner, food piled high on his plate as that same playlist filtered through in the background.

 

Sometimes they talked over dinner, but most days Dipper was too consumed in the flavours assaulting his tongue, only capable of responding in hums and moans. The reactions kept a perpetual smile on Bill’s face, the blond eating his own food with a bit more composure, and more than a bit of pride.

 

Dipper would bend over backwards if it meant that smile would linger on Bill’s face, so much softer than Cipher’s grin or the little smirks he was used to.

 

Eventually, Dipper worked up the courage and sense of companionship to ask Bill about the playlist and the subtle change it worked on him, which earnt a laugh from the blond.

 

“Cipher’s a mindset, Pine Tree. He takes a bit of effort to slip into, and the music helps. It gets me hyped up for work, the last thing I want is to get on that stage out of character. It would ruin the image.”

 

That was understandable enough, Dipper supposed, though he didn’t find Bill’s dancing any less appealing than Cipher’s. It was a different sort of dancing, softer and more subtle and personal, and it made Dipper catch his breath just as often as Cipher’s heated glances and smooth turns of the hip. But he wasn’t about to tell Bill that, for the sake of maintaining the closeness they’d found.

 

When Bill left for work, he left with a smile and a wink, a promise to text Dipper when he got home if the writer was still up. And Dipper nearly always was, working but always listening for those soft footsteps on the floor, the sound of a key in the latch across the hall. Bill never texted Dipper right away- he learnt pretty quickly that the dancer showered nearly instantly after getting home, which explained the constantly damp hair when he did open the door for Dipper, a grin on his face.

 

From there, the two insomniacs found a way to work the other into their usual routine. Dipper sat on one side of the couch, an end table procured from somewhere for his laptop as he wrote, Bill’s feet nudging at his knees- the blond had a fondness for stretching across the couch and sipping at his tea, eyes closed as he bobbed his head to the music. Every now and then he’d ask a question about the book, but mostly Bill preferred to sit in silence during his cool downs.

 

By the time the violin music faded out, Dipper would have stopped writing, simply organising things or looking around the room as Bill nodded off. Some nights the dancer insisted that he stay, leaving a blanket folded over the back of the couch for him, but other nights he simply made his way back into his own room, falling asleep with a smile on his face.

 

Only on occasion did Bill not invite Dipper over, for a variety of reasons, though most of them spoke of fatigue in the end. Some days Bill stayed out later, some days he came home without the spring in his step, feet nearly dragging on the floor, and an hour or so later, Dipper would get a text or two.

 

[text from: Bill] Sorry I can’t host company tonight. I’m afraid I’d be no fun.  
[text from: Bill] How goes the writing?

 

The conversations on those days were short, but Bill never failed to check in on him and Dipper was always inspired to get back to work from that. The dancer’s interest served as an inspiration and a motivator, the writer suddenly throwing himself back into the sequel with fervor.

 

Only on occasion now did he open the secret folder, adding yet further details to his fictional dancer, each one of them painfully similar to the man across the hall.

 

Some part of Dipper had thought that getting closer to Bill would snuff out the attraction, but if anything, it had only amplified it, a warmth in his core when he thought of Bill or Cipher now. He was smitten and could not escape.

 

Only when a second pair of feet followed Bill home did the dancer not text at all, presumably tired after whatever his night’s escapades involved. Each time, Bill’s partner left within an hour or two, never did they stay. And more than once, red glitter was smeared across the door afterwards, sparking that same hateful fire in Dipper’s core.

 

In a break of routine, a sharp rapping came at Dipper’s door around three in the afternoon, much earlier than their usual supper time, but Dipper knew that knocking anywhere. Bill knocked like that any time he entered a room, a warning to make up for his nearly silent prowling when he wasn’t wearing shoes.

 

Fixing his hair, he went to the door with a curious face, opening it to find Bill looking the closest the dancer could to sheepish, hands clasped together.

 

“Is something wrong, Bill?”

 

Shaking his head, Bill was quick to dismiss that with a small laugh, “No, no, not at all… I just… have a request, of sorts.”

 

“Oh. Yeah, go for it, you know you can ask for anything, Bill.” The curiousity remained in Dipper’s eyes though, Bill _never_ asked for anything. He hated being _given_ anything, Dipper had long since realised, and lived his whole life through a strange system of bartering and returned favours. For a reason that Dipper didn’t know, but was curious about, the dancer seemed to feel constantly in someone’s debt.

 

Bill held out a piece of paper, a small smile on his face, “One of our dancers is having her first centerpiece tonight, and I want to make it special for her. We… we always invite our friends for firsties, make sure they have a big, supportive crowd. And I don’t usually invite anyone, don’t usually have anyone to invite, but I thought you might enjoy it, if you’re not too busy, that is.”

 

Taking the flier, Dipper listened to the explanation, but a good majority of it faded into background noise as he took note of what Bill had called him.

_“We always invite our friends…”_

Bill considered him a _friend_ now…

 

Grinning at the thought, Dipper nodded, “Of course, Bill. That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?”

 

The nervousness seeped out of the blond’s posture as he nodded, the usual confidence creeping back. But, when Bill spoke, it was still with a tentative air, the words clearly unfamiliar in his mouth, “Yes. I suppose that is what friends are for.”

 

Hearing the word again had Dipper’s heart pausing in his chest for a moment before starting again at a rapid pace, a fluttering in his chest.

 

They had dinner a bit early that night, and Bill threw himself more into his warm up, trailing his fingers along the walls and counters as he danced past them, eyes closed and a smile on his face. Dipper couldn’t even bring himself to tear his eyes away, the blond was so entrancing and entranced.

 

And what did a bit of staring amount to now, when it would be all he was doing later?

 

The walk to the club was taken entirely in silence and at the _Oculo Mentis’s_ doors, Dipper watched as Bill slept through security with a smile, leaving him to wait in line until the doors opened, anticipation coiling in the pit of his stomach.

 

Center or not, he was certain Cipher would be irresistible on that stage tonight.

 

Both for the sake of his own sanity and to avoid looking as smitten as he was, Dipper chose a table in the center of the crowd this time around rather than the front as he had his first time. At least here there was a guarantee of some distance between himself and Cipher here, too close and Dipper was certain he’d make a fool of himself.

 

When the waiter came around, he ordered himself a whiskey and sat back as the lights dimmed, the first act taking his place on the stage and beginning to dance.

 

The first few dances passed with enjoyment and a fair amount of applause, but Dipper couldn’t recall details from them if he’d been pressed. Each time an act began, his eyes searched the stage for blond hair and golden skin, but each time he was disappointed.

 

The only act he really took note of was the last before the center was to perform. The lights on the stage dimmed to a deep crimson and one of the dancers Dipper remembered from Cipher’s performance leapt onto the stage, skin dripping with scarlet glitter.

 

Dipper knew nothing of the man, but his stomach clenched in envious hatred at the sight of him.

 

It wasn’t until the lights faded to black again and Phoenix left the stage that Dipper could relax, noticing that his nails were biting into the palms of his hands, hard enough to leave marks.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight I am proud to take part in a _work of art,”_ Dipper would know that voice anywhere, though he couldn’t see where it was coming from, the stage still entirely black, “With pleasure, I introduce to you, Stardust.”

 

With that, a single purple light came down on the stage, lighting the two figures there, one of them recognisable even with his face turned down. Cipher wasn’t wearing his heals today, and there was something different about his posture, shoulders turned inwards in submission.

 

The instant the music started, the reasoning behind that was infinitely clear.

 

Brighter lights fell on the both of them as Stardust pushed Cipher down by his shoulders, the blond swaying his way down into a crouch and thrusting his hips upward in time with her own hip rolls amidst hoots and cat calls. Every piece of Cipher’s body language screamed submission and Stardust seemed glad to take advantage of that, pulling him up by his collar and grinding up on him, using him as a malleable prop in her dance.

 

Falling to the floor with grace, she pulled Cipher down with her and the blond landed between her legs, holding himself up off the floor with his arms as he thrust in time to the beats, hips gyrating above her in a mockery of the act they sold. Every snap of his hips was exact, the glitter and sweat glistening on his skin in the ambient light.

 

It was Stardust’s show, and that much was obvious with the way she led Cipher around, but all Dipper could focus on was how the leather left little to the imagination, the muscles of Cipher’s torso clenching with every thrust of his hips.

 

The crowd went wild as Stardust pressed Cipher down onto his knees and then lower until the blond was lying on his back, prone beneath her as she rolled her hips down toward him. They never touched, but the smooth motions were sensual enough, cat calls ringing out from the crowd.

 

Dipper’s mouth was too dry to produce sound as he watched Cipher play the part of the worshipful assistant, the dance finishing with him on his knees in front of her as the lights went out with a flash.

 

Any chance he had of sleeping soundly tonight was ruined now, he knew for a fact that Cipher’s lean torso and sultry smirk would be haunting his dreams, combined with hip movements Dipper had never seen outside of actual sex.

 

He was hopelessly attracted to the dancer, almost as hopelessly as he was in love with his neighbour. Their being one and the same only made his life that much more difficult.

 

Dipper tried to focus on the later acts, he really did, but all his mind kept wandering to was the glint of glitter and sweat on Cipher’s skin, the way Cipher could simultaneously look so debauched and so untouchable. He was a creature of sex who could not be claimed, even when he was being pushed around the stage, and Dipper was hot under his collar at the thought, wishing he’d worn looser clothing.

 

When the final act drew to a close, Dipper got up from his seat, intent on hurrying home as swiftly as he could and texting Bill to tell him that he’d be sleeping early tonight. A headache or something of the like, any excuse not to have Bill see him in this state, flushed and desperately aroused by his dancing.

 

On his way to the door, though, a hand stopped him and turned him around, and Dipper found himself staring down into pale green eyes framed by red shadow and a dusting of glitter that remained on Phoenix’s skin, “So _you’re_ the lucky boy, hmm? Should have figured he’d want a taste of you after that little dance. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up for another round. He doesn’t take anyone back for seconds, no matter how often they hang off his words and grovel at his feet. Cipher gets bored with repeat performances.”

 

Confusion warred with anger in Dipper’s mind as he turned over Phoenix’s words before raising an eyebrow, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, and even if you did, it’s none of your business.”

 

“Isn’t it?” The other man’s mouth was twisted into a cold smirk and he took a step closer, “Just keep your eyes off Cipher, kid. For your own sake.”

 

“No, it isn’t. And I can take care of myself, thanks. Now if you excuse me, I have places to be.” And with a curt shove, Dipper was making his way past the other dancer, a frown his face and a dark shadow over his face.

 

Who did that dancer think he was anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates are gonna slow down because i'm moving tomorrow and starting classes so i've gotta adjust to my new schedule, but i know i won't be able to write every night likely


	7. Changes in Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tried and true systems don't always work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i kinda lied. classes don't start until thursday so HERE I AM, BRINGING SIN DIRECTLY TO YOU FROM MY DORM ROOM.

Trysts were a regular occurrence for Cipher, an easy way to relieve stress and have a bit of fun. In every case but one, he never bothered to ask their names, and they knew what to scream, his stage name was the most well-known in town, after all. Tied down beneath him, not allowed to bite or kiss or touch, his partners were as much tools for his own pleasure as they were participants.

 

But he never got any complaints.

 

The only noises that escaped the dancers lips were breathy laughs and gasps, the quietest of moans. Even in the depths of passion, Cipher kept total control of himself and the situation. No amount of pleasure could coax a whimper from him, and it was unheard of that the dancer should scream- he was above that.

 

Or at least, that was the illusion he maintained.

 

There was never anything more to the trysts, no phone numbers left on the nightstand, no promise of a second date. Cipher took men home, had his fun, and tossed them aside. That was his way, that was what had worked for him for years, and he was fond of his tried and true process. They met their ends, he met his, and they stumbled out of his apartment or the hotel room, never to be seen again. A shower later and they were forgotten as Cipher slipped into sleep.

 

The exception to this method was, of course, Phoenix.

 

Blaine had taken a shine to him as soon as he’d started at the club, only a year after Cipher himself took a position there. The younger man shadowed him like a puppy, only accepting lessons and tips from him, though Chance had just as much seniority. Cipher had been happy to oblige, of course, he was never one to turn away requests for help.

 

Soon, Phoenix emerged from his shell and found his place on the stage, a different sort of presence than the sort Cipher commanded, but a presence nonetheless. In his own dances he was strong, but he worked best in group numbers, his energy amplifying every action on stage.

 

Through this, Phoenix earned himself a space in Cipher’s closer circle of dancers. Though Cipher cared for and helped every dancer that came and went at _Oculo Mentis,_ he maintained a circle for group numbers, people he trusted to take his orders and cues at a moment’s notice.

 

Naturally, such a place earnt him a bit more leeway with how he acted around Cipher. Nearly all of the dancers looked up to him like a brother or deferred to him like a teacher, but swiftly, Phoenix took to cheeky touches and comments, visibly flirtatious and interested.

 

Cipher couldn’t exactly say Phoenix was unattractive either, and he didn’t see any problem with taking the dancer home for the night. As a reward for his first centerpiece, Cipher pulled him in for a kiss to end the show and dragged him home afterward.

 

Looking into green eyes blown wide with arousal, Cipher knew he made the younger man see stars that night.

 

It didn’t surprise him to learn, then, that Phoenix was more than willing to partake in an encore, at any time. The young man put the offer in no uncertain terms, told Cipher that any time the blond wanted, he was at his disposal.

 

An open offer of sex without strings attached was not something Cipher would pass up on, considering he had enjoyed his night with Phoenix, and he’d taken Phoenix up on it more than once, bringing the red-glittered dancer home time and again.

 

The repetition was the only perk Phoenix was afforded, though. Cipher still held him down throughout the affair, not a single mark to be left on the blond’s skin. Hips slammed together and sighs escaped the blond’s lips, but that was all Phoenix got before he, too, was ushered out the front door, leaving a trail of glitter.

 

Whether it was with a stranger or his fellow dancer, Cipher’s system of one night stands had worked out wonderfully for him since he took his position at the _Oculo Mentis_. A wide variety of partners meant he never got bored and the lack of connection kept any chance of drama or pain low. A relationship couldn’t turn sour if it didn’t exist to begin with.

 

In recent weeks, though, he had been more and more unsatisfied with the men he brought home. He always found his end, but a good majority of his gasps were faked now, nothing really succeeding in filling the strange hollow that had made itself known in his core. His partners showed themselves out and he felt no better than he had beforehand, rolling over in bed and falling asleep with a sigh.

 

And the morning after he awoke with a sour taste in his mouth, his first action always pulling his phone toward him and checking for any texts from Dipper across the hall. Because he hadn’t texted the tall author the night prior, there never were any.

 

That was when the emptiness rolled back in full force, though Bill couldn’t for the life of him explain the feeling.

 

Tonight was no difference as he straddled Phoenix on his bed, hair falling over his face as he simply went through the motions, thighs flexing to pull himself up before he fell and impaled himself cyclically. His body reacted as it always did, heat coiling in his abdomen, but his mind was elsewhere, not interested in the simple pleasure.

 

As he neared climax, the only sound to escape Bill’s lips was a ragged gasp, his eyes slipping closed as they both reached their ends, Phoenix’s hips arching up to meet his one final time before Cipher slipped off him and tugged free the silk tie holding him in place.

 

“Be safe on your way out, Phoenix.”

 

No thank you, no promise of a return this time, Cipher simply turned away from the other dancer as he slipped his clothes on and exited the apartment. Sweat coated his skin but he couldn’t be bothered to step into the shower this time, simply laying on his back in the place Phoenix had occupied not long before, staring at the ceiling. The heat of the moment had passed and only emptiness filled him now, his core frozen.

 

Instinctively, Bill reached for his phone, picking it up and typing up a quick text.

 

[text to: Pine Tree] How goes the next great American novel?

 

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed with a reply and Bill snatched it up again, a smile touching his mouth at the reply.

 

[text from: Pine Tree] Better now than it was earlier. I had a bit of writer’s block.

 

As Bill went to reply, he noted that the emptiness in his core was quieter now, and somewhere, amidst it all, there was a spark of warmth.

* * *

 

After a couple of weeks of their dinner routine, Dipper felt comfortable enough to wander the sitting area of Bill’s apartment, examining the few personal effects to be found there. The shelves against the wall held a small collection of books, a good many of them cookbooks, but there were novels in there as well as a home manual of medicine and first aid… and the advance copy of Dipper’s novel, which the dancer had never returned.

 

Dipper wasn’t about to ask for it back, he liked seeing it on Bill’s shelf. A little piece of him that the dancer had incorporated into his life, into his routine. Just like Dipper himself was now a part of Bill’s routine, a footrest and a headrest and a friend.

 

The walls were almost entirely bare, aside from the two photos on the mantle. Both photos featured the same two boys, almost identical in appearance. In the first, Bill had his arm around a boy who Dipper assumed was his twin, the only differences in appearance being the paler blond of the other boy’s hair and the striking blue of his eyes. Both of them wore blue graduation robes and gowns, and there were matching grins on their faces. From how young they looked, it had to be high school.

 

The other picture featured the both of them again, but this time, only the other boy donned a graduation robe, black this time. Bill was dressed nicely, in fancier clothing than Dipper had ever seen him in, and his face was nearly split by his grin, visibly proud. A college graduation.

 

Even in the middle of his warm up routine, Bill took note of Dipper’s interest and came up beside him, lightly touching his shoulder, “That’s Will, my twin brother. He’s a real genius, and I’m real proud of him. I’d… I’d do anything for that boy, anything to keep that smile on his face. He… didn’t deserve the cards we were dealt, but now he’s on a better path.”

 

“I didn’t know you were a twin too… My sister’s far away now, but… I feel you. I’d do anything for her if she needed it.”

 

The small, sad smile on Bill’s face spoke of kinship and he nodded before going back to his dancing, cleaning up the remains of dinner. Some part of Dipper was still terribly curious about Will, but it was clear that Bill was done talking about him for the night, and the brunet didn’t want to pry, so he let the topic drop, content with knowing just that.

 

Dipper had learnt early in his acquaintance with Bill that the dancer on average brought someone home about once a week, sometimes more- and often the secondary trysts ended with red glitter sparkling on the hall floor and a heat in Dipper’s stomach, he was much more envious of those encounters than the random men who came once never to return.

 

But it had been nearly two weeks since a second pair of footsteps followed Bill home, nearly two weeks since the door locked behind laughter and gasps. Instead, Dipper was spending more and more nights at the dancer’s house, curled up on the couch as he wrote, and sampling the collection of teas Bill had amassed.

 

Slowly but surely, the jealous fire in his heart died down, replaced by the comfortable companionship the pair had fallen into. Far from killing the attraction Dipper held, it simply interwove that with the friendship they’d built, and the more time he spent with Bill, the more little details he fell in love with.

 

Bill always knocked by rapping his index finger backwards against a door twice, even for rooms that couldn’t possibly be occupied. He was fiercely defensive of his kitchen, brandishing his spoon like a dagger when Dipper tried to steal a bite of whatever he was making. The dancer could get lost in any sort of music, easily finding the beat and dancing along to it, and sometimes he dragged Dipper along, laughing when the taller man lost his footing or stepped on his feet.

 

Of all the things Dipper loved about Bill, it was his laugh that captured Dipper’s heart the most. Bright and golden, it only slipped from his lips on rare occasions, but Dipper wanted to hear it every second of every day.

 

In an attempt to succeed in that, Dipper discovered that Bill’s was dangerously ticklish on his sides and would swiftly devolve into hysterics, rolling and twitching on the carpet as laughter spilled from his lips until he was unable to breathe. Bill had returned the favour with a vengeance, but despite the dozen threats that issued from his lips, he had a smile on his face the entire time.

 

So routine had their lives become that Dipper was already putting his stuff together to cross the hall into Bill’s room for the night when he heard a pair of feet running down the hall. Even through the walls, Dipper could hear the soft sobs and ragged gasps of whoever was across the hall, and the rapid knocking.

 

Whoever it was, it was obvious they were in distress.

 

Not wanting to pry but also curious despite himself, Dipper sat down in the entryway behind his door, listening as Bill opened the door, speaking in hushed tones.

 

“Shh, shh, Lissi, it’s alright. You’re safe, no one can find you here. And even if they could, I wouldn’t let them touch you.”

 

“I-I’m.. I’m sorry for… for coming this late I just… He.. he threatened… threatened to _beat me_ if I… if I didn’t…” Lissi broke down into sobs again before she could finish, but it didn’t take much to put together the rest of the sentence, and Dipper’s mouth turned down in a frown, both angry at whoever had threatened her and concerned for her safety.

 

There was a moment of pause and something told Dipper he wasn’t the only one roiling in anger at the revelation, though when Bill spoke, it was in that same calming tone, if with a bit more fervor than before.

 

“Hey, don’t apologise, sweetie. I told you, I’m always here if you need me. Rain, sun, sleet, or snow. Middle of the day or middle of the night, I’m your man.” And Dipper couldn’t see Bill’s face, but he could hear the smile in his words, could picture just the expression the man was making in an attempt to reassure the other dancer “Come in, I’ll make you a cup of hot cocoa, I found a recipe last week on pinterest and it’s _heavenly,_ promise.”

 

Some sniffling followed, but clearly Lissi acquiesced, as Dipper heard the door closing a moment later and Bill’s music was turned up a bit, the violins and piano drifting over across the hall. Overcome by concern for the dancer, Dipper walked back to his desk and grabbed his phone, shooting Bill a quick text.

 

[text to: Bill] Hey, is everything alright? I heard someone crying…

 

It was a few minutes before his phone buzzed, presumably filled with Bill getting Lissi settled in and starting whatever he was making.

 

[text from: Bill] It should be now. Let’s just say Lissi’s boyfriend doesn’t treat her nearly as well as she deserves, and she’s safer here than she is at home right now. I give all of the dancers my number and address for emergencies. My door is always open to them.

 

[text to: Bill] Geeze… Give her my support, would you? And, I hope you’ve got something planned for tonight.

 

[text from: Bill] I was thinking a movie or something. Legally Blonde is good for cheering people up, right?

 

Dipper looked up at his own shelf of movies, a good many of which he’d had since childhood, and bit his lip in thought.

 

[text to: Bill] I’d go with something Disney… You do own Disney movies, right?

 

The time between Dipper’s text and Bill’s reply gave the answer before Dipper even read the text, a sigh escaping the brunet.

 

[text from: Bill] Will stole all of those ages ago. He hordes them… Do you think I should run down to the store and get one?

 

[text to: Bill] Hey, hey, don’t run off. I’ve got most of them here because my sister and I bought doubles of them when we moved away from each other since we couldn’t decide on who got what. You can just borrow one.

 

[text from: Bill] I’d really appreciate that, actually. I’ll bring you a mug of this cocoa in return, it’s what I was gonna make for us tonight anyway.  
[text from: Bill] ...do you have The Princess and the Frog?

 

Just the promise of a cup of cocoa was enough to have Dipper’s mouth watering as he checked his shelves, pulling the movie down with a smile.

 

[text to: Bill] You bet. It’s one of my sister’s favourites. I’ll set it aside for you, just come get it once Lissi’s all settled.

 

[text from: Bill] Mine too, actually. And, will do. Expect a delivery of hot cocoa in a few minutes. xoxo

 

The little show of affection had Dipper flushing a pale shade of pink, the knot in his stomach tightening a bit in excitement. Maybe Bill meant nothing by it, he probably did it just as something between friends, but Dipper couldn’t help but be pleased by the sentiment behind the letters.

 

_Hugs and kisses to you, too, Bill…_

 

While he couldn’t bring himself to reply with that and risk marring their friendship, Dipper couldn’t help but mirror the dancer’s text with his own.

 

[text to: Bill] I’ll be waiting on that hot cocoa. With all the hype you’re giving me, it better be the best I’ve ever had. xoxo

 

Seeing it in his own message had Dipper’s stomach doing little nervous flips, but there was a smile on his face at Bill’s reply.

 

[text from: Bill] Oh. It will be.   
[text from: Bill] Coming over now. xoxo

 

Not a moment later, Bill’s usual rapping knock sounded at the door and Dipper tried to rub the flush from his cheeks, bringing the DVD with him to the door.

 

“One copy of Princess and the Frog, ready for viewing.”

 

Bill looked a tad bit frazzled, hair mussed and an oversized sweater hanging off his frame where he stood in Dipper’s doorway, but there was a smile on his face nonetheless as he held out the mug of cocoa, topped with a swirl of whipped cream.

 

“And a Mayan hot chocolate in return- I’ll warn you, it’s got a bit of kick to it. Cinnamon and spice.” There was a bit of humour to Bill’s voice as he handed the mug over, their hands touching for just a moment before the dancer snatched the movie from Dipper’s other hand, “I’ll grab the mug from you tomorrow, so no rush in drinking it.”

 

Despite that, Dipper made sure to take a sip while Bill was still in front of him, his eyes rolling back into his head at the flavours that mixed on his tongue, a moan escaping his lips, “ _Damn,_ Bill. Are you sure you didn’t just steal a recipe from heaven or something? This is the best cocoa I’ve had in my life…”

 

A soft chuckle escaped the blond as he shrugged his shoulders, waving off the praise, though the little smile on his face was familiar to Dipper now, it was the same one that he always got when his food was complimented, “Nah, just stole it off the internet. But I’m glad you like it, I’ll save it for you.” The last comment was accompanied by a wink as Bill turned back to walk to his door, waving, “Catch ya tomorrow, Pine Tree.”

 

“Yeah, tomorrow. We’re still on for breakfast, right?”

 

“Noon sharp, like always!”

 

And with that, Bill was gone, back to comfort Lissi and put the movie on. With a grin splitting his face, Dipper walked back into his own apartment, closing the door behind him as he took another sip of his hot chocolate, humming in pleasure.

 

Just before he drifted off to sleep that night, his phone vibrated one last time, screen lighting up the dark of his room.

 

[text from: Bill] Thanks again for the movie, it really helped. Sleep well, Pine Tree. xoxo

 

[text to: Bill] Don’t mention it. And you too, Bill, sweet dreams. xoxo

 

Behind identical doors in nearly identical rooms across the hall from each other, the dancer and the writer stared down at their phones with identical, small, shy smiles.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone just send my sons into a closet to get their feelings out. also: writing cipher/phoenix more like here i am BETRAYING MYSELF


	8. Parallels and Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past rears its head in ugly ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, potential trigger warning for emotionally and physically abusive relationships for this chapter. if these things trigger you, let me know and i'll give you a toned down version so you aren't uncomfortable

Bill woke up just after ten am the next morning with a stretch and a yawn, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension in them. Sleeping on the couch really wasn’t something he could recommend, it felt fine passing out there, but waking up was an entirely different story. Putting on some light music, he ran through a routine of morning stretches, loosening each and every muscle as he woke up.

 

Somewhere in the middle of it all, Lissi emerged from the bedroom, wrapped up in one of Bill’s sweater and joined him in the stretches, following by his example with a small smile.

 

By the time Bill was finally feeling limber and the soreness had left his limbs, the clock was nearing eleven am and it was about time to start preparing breakfast.

 

“A cup of coffee or tea, Lissi? I’ve got milk and orange juice as well, if those tickle your fancy,” Bill poured himself a glass of water before setting a kettle on to boil for tea. Dipper would take coffee, but the writer wouldn’t be over until a quarter to noon at the earliest, so that could wait.

 

The strawberry blonde dancer sat down at the counter, nodding with a grateful smile, “Some tea would be great, if it’s no trouble. Whatever you’re having is fine.”

 

Picking up a tea pot, Bill spooned tea leaves into the filter, humming as he did so, “Milk or sugar for your tea?”

 

“Just sugar, if you’ve got it. “

 

With a smile, Bill reached up into the cabinets for the sugar before frowning and rolling his eyes. Clearly Dipper had put the sugar away last time, as it was just above where Bill could comfortably reach it. Sighing, he hopped up onto the counter before grabbing the sugar and setting it down on the counter in front of her.

 

Lissi could barely contain her laughter at the display, one hand over her mouth as she grinned, “You should make him buy you a stool. It was your neighbour, right? The one you brought to our show?”

 

 _“I_ don’t need a stool, _he_ needs to learn to put things back on their proper shelves. I have everything arranged for a reason,” the kettle began to sing then and Bill turned to take it off the stove, pouring the water into the teapot and watching as it steeped, pulling two mugs down from hangers beneath the cabinets, “If he didn’t insist on washing dishes, I’d ban him from the kitchen altogether. He’s nice, but that boy is _hopeless_ with an oven.”

 

A real laugh escaped Lissi at that and she gave Bill a look, shaking her head, “Yeah, yeah. Complain all you want, I _know_ you like him. You don’t invite just everyone over for ‘breakfast at the usual time’, I’m pretty sure.”

 

Bill snorted as he poured the tea into two mugs, handing one over to Lissi as he leant back against the refrigerator, “We’re _friends,_ Lissi, _of course_ I like him. He’s the best friend I have, outside of the club, that is.”

 

The other dancer smiled into her cup of tea as she took a sip, nodding, “Ah. Gotcha. Best friends. And is your _best friend_ gonna be here soon? What are you making him for breakfast, hmm?”

 

Leaning over the counter, he ruffled her hair, stomach flipping in his chest, “Seriously. Just best friends. And I’m making strawberry creme crepes. I’ll start once I’m done drinking this.”

 

“Mm, that sounds delicious. You two won’t mind if I stay for breakfast and interrupt your… friend time, will you?”

 

Another roll of golden eyes came in response as Bill set about gathering the ingredients for his crepes, “Like I said. _Just friends._ And you’re more than welcome to stay for breakfast, Lissi.”

 

A smile lingered on Lissi’s face as she sipped her tea, the two falling into a companionable silence as Bill set about making breakfast, batter mix in one bowl while he whipped cream in another before slicing the strawberries, cleaning the kitchen as he went along. Bill slipped into a different state of being while cooking, just as smooth and fluid in his motions as he always was, but with a new sort of confidence and a love for what he did.

 

So invested was Bill in his work that he didn’t hear Dipper’s door closing across the hall, and the knock to the door startled him for a moment as he spread a thin layer of oil on the pan, “Ah, that’ll be Pine Tree himself. Grab the door for me, would you darling?”

 

Nodding, Lissi walked to the door and opened it, letting Dipper in with a smile, “You’re right on time, Cipher’s just cooking up the crepes right now.”

 

“Settle yourselves at the table, I’ll bring the food over in a moment!” Bill’s voice rang out from the kitchen over the soft hissing of the oil in the pan, singsong and upbeat.

 

Once the food was set out on the table, any attempts at conversation were abandoned. Bill grinned with pride at the moan that escaped Dipper as the first bite of strawberries and cream, Lissi bursting into laughter at the sound, though she praised the food as well, a high flush on the brunet’s cheeks.

 

Bill was nearly high off the atmosphere in the room, happy and at peace and surrounded by laughter and the sound of forks clinking against ceramic plates.

 

When Lissi left to go home, Bill stopped her at the door, grabbing her by the shoulders, “Call me when he leaves for work, okay? We’ll come over and pack up everything you have, we’re getting you out of there today.”

 

The other dancer bit her lip, clearly frightened, but nodded nonetheless, “Alright. I’ll…. I’ll see you later then… And thank you, Cipher.”

 

“Don’t mention it, Lissi. I’m here for you, whatever you need.” He hugged her quickly, pressing a kiss to her temple before she left and he closed the door, turning back to Dipper, “You’re helping me move Lissi out of her shitty boyfriend’s house today. I’ll make you brownies in return.”

 

Blinking, the brunet nodded, a small frown on his face, “Alright. Is she.. alright?”

 

“Better than she was, but she’ll be even better once we get her away from that piece of shit,” Bill’s voice dropped into a lower register, one that spoke of anger and bitterness, and Dipper’s frown deepened as he collected the plates and brought them to the sink to wash them.

 

While Dipper cleaned, Bill set about putting away the ingredients he’d left out, making sure they were all places he could reach. He cleaned with extra voracity today, trying to expel the tension that had come to him.

 

“Hey… are you alright, Bill? You.. seem kinda on edge.”

 

A soft sigh came in response and for an instant Bill rested his head against Dipper’s shoulder with a world-weary sort of exhaustion, “Let’s just say I’ve been in her shoes, much much deeper, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. So we’re gonna get her out.”

 

That was all the dancer wanted to say on the matter, a frown on his usually care free face as he put music on again, waiting for Lissi to call.

 

Moving her out took the majority of the rest of the day, and when Dipper returned to Bill’s apartment, he simply crashed onto the couch with his laptop, “Have a good day at work, Bill. I’m gonna rest a bit.”

 

Laughing, the blond tossed a pillow at Dipper before remembering his own night spent on the couch. Dipper was even taller than him, scrunched up on the couch, and he frowned, “You know what, go sleep on my bed if you’re gonna sleep. There’s more space there and it’s better for your back. I’ll join you when I’m done, I’ve got a feeling I’ll be pretty exhausted after all of this and I’ll probably be heading right to sleep.”

 

A high flush coloured Dipper’s face and he shook his head, waving his hands in surprise, “N-no, that’s fine! I don’t want to kick you out of your bed, Bill. I can go home, it’s no problem really.”

 

“Who said you’d be kicking me out of bed? There’s more than enough room for the both of us, I assure you. If you’re in my way I’ll just move you. Now, if you don’t mind, I can’t be late! See you later if you’re not already asleep, Pine Tree!”

 

And with that, Bill was out the door and off to work, not catching the small, shy smile that touched Dipper’s lips, not hearing the nervous laugh that escaped his lips, not catching the words that slipped from them.

 

“Y-yeah… see you later…”

 

Work was uneventful as always, Cipher’s grin as wide as ever, the music as electric as ever, the dances as perfect as ever. Tips fell like rain onto the stage, glitter glinted on his skin and the ground and the walls, and Cipher danced with an ethereal, untouchable sort of beauty. When he was done with his part of the show, he slipped into the back to shower and take off what makeup he could before heading home.

 

[text to: Pine Tree] You still awake? xoxo

 

It was a moment before his phone buzzed, the screen lighting up as Cipher grabbed it with a smile.

 

[text from: Pine Tree] Barely. You’re right, your bed is much more comfortable than the couch. I haven’t gotten any writing done. xoxo

 

Cipher couldn’t help himself from laughing then, shaking his head at the domestic absurdity of the statement. He ignored the butterflies in his stomach at the mention of his bed, pushing those feelings out of his mind.

 

[text to: Pine Tree] I’ll be home within the hour, think you can make it? xoxo

 

[text from: Pine Tree] I’ll try my best. See you soon, Bill. xoxo

 

Cipher went to put his phone on the counter when a hand snatched it up from him, tugging it out of his hand and over his shoulder.

 

“Who’s _this,_ hmm?”

 

Turning on his heel, Cipher’s eyes narrowed at Phoenix, standing and holding his phone with a disdainful expression, “A friend, Phoenix. And none of your business. Now, please kindly return my phone.”

 

Sneering, Blaine scrolled through the conversation, mouth setting into a harsh line, “Seems a bit close for a friend, Cipher.” Handing the phone back, he spat with a jealous acid, “I _was_ going to ask you out for the evening, but I can see you have _other plans._ Have fun with your _friend,_ Cipher.”

 

The smile that touched Cipher’s lips was cold and didn’t touch his eyes, hard glints of gold, “Thank you. I will.”

 

And with that, the dancer collected his things and left, shouldering past Blaine who was still standing in the middle of the dressing room with a blank expression that swiftly turned to rage once Cipher was out of sight.

 

“He calls you _Bill…”_

 

* * *

 

The week that followed was one filled with clenched hearts and flushed faces for Dipper. He hadn’t expected Bill to insist on letting him share the bed every night now, the dancer curled up on one side with his face on his hands while Dipper sprawled in the remaining space. They never touched, aside from one brushed up against the other in sleep, but Dipper could look across the near-pitch blackness and see the moonlight reflecting off of pale blond hair and fair skin.

 

It made his heart clench in his chest, how beautiful Bill was in sleep, how peaceful. And how the blond trusted Dipper enough to let him see him in this state, small and vulnerable, curled in on himself.

 

Dipper spent less time sleeping those days than he would have liked, but he didn’t consider the time wasted, watching over the dancer as he slumbered. And the sleep he got was much better than any he would have gotten otherwise, he always woke well rested to the smell of something cooking, Bill singing to himself in the kitchen.

 

Even if they were just friends, Dipper could get used to this, could fall in love with this new, domestic life they were living.

 

Seated at his laptop, Dipper typed away at a new chapter of the sequel to his novel as Bill danced around the apartment, psyching himself up for work. The writer was in a zone, hadn’t spoken in almost an hour and even Bill’s later songs couldn’t draw his attention, the dancer sliding through his motions with his eyes closed.

 

As his playlist drew to a close, Bill leant over the couch and rested his head on Dipper’s shoulder for a moment, “You can stay here until I get home, don’t want to break your writing streak. I expect that chapter to be ready for me to read when I get home, Pine Tree!”

 

With a chuckle, Dipper reached up to ruffle Bill’s hair, shrugging him off, “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it. Don’t want you waiting any longer than you have to.”

 

Bill’s laugh rang out in the silence afterward as he grabbed his phone from the speakers, slipping it into his pockets before he headed out the door with a wave, “See you tonight!”

 

“Be safe, Bill.”

A couple of hours later, Dipper got a text, jostled from his writing as he looked at his screen.

 

[text from: Bill] I forgot my after-show sweats at home, could you possibly bring them to me? xoxo  
[text from: Bill] Sorry to interrupt your writing.

 

Brown eyes caught sight of Bill’s duffel bag lying on the couch and he sent a quick text back, closing his laptop as he got up to grab it.

 

[text to: Bill] No problem. I’ll be there soon. xoxo

 

Gathering up Bill’s things, Dipper turned off the lights as he left the apartment, grabbing the spare key to lock the door behind him before slipping it back into the dancer’s bag and heading off, the bag slung over his shoulder.

 

Following the instructions Bill had texted him, Dipper went around the back of the club, knocking on the door there and freezing for a moment while the guard questioned him, but it was obvious Bill had cleared it beforehand.

 

“Ah, you’re Cipher’s friend. He’s in the dressing room, down the hall and to the left.”

 

Muttering his thanks, Dipper made his way down the hallway, “Bill? I’ve got your bag, where are you?”

 

Before an answer could reach him, Dipper was slammed into the wall, a hand at his throat, a body inches from his own. Green eyes stared into brown, Phoenix’s mouth twisted into a snarl of rage.

 

 _“You._ I should have _known_ it would be you. Who do you think you are, calling him _Bill_ and waltzing in here like you matter to him!?” The red dancer was hissing now, leaning close in to Dipper’s face, “You’re _nothing_ to Cipher. _No one_ is important to Cipher, except for _me. I’m_ the only one he’s taken home more than once, and it’s _staying that way._ He’s going to _use you_ and _toss you aside_ and _I’ll_ be the one there for him when that happens. Because you. Mean. **Nothing!”**

 

Phoenix’s grip was tightening on his shirt, nearly choking him as the dancer shook him, knocking his head lightly back into the wall, _“I’m_ the only one allowed to have him more than once. The little trysts can _borrow him,_ but Cipher is _mine_ , you oaf. And you’re _crazy_ to think you have a chance with him.”

 

“Get off of him, Phoenix. Now.” The voice was cold and collected, but Dipper could hear the threat beneath it, could see the pale, slim hand on Phoenix’s shoulder, and the other dancer immediately stepped back.

 

“Cipher! I was just telling this new boy of yours the facts. Didn’t want him getting his hopes up, you know,” Phoenix laughed, clearly expecting the blond dancer to laugh with him, but Cipher’s eyes were alight with anger as he grabbed Phoenix by the collar, tugging him close.

 

“Listen here, you self-righteous, over-confident piece of shit. You don’t _own me._ **You** don’t get to decide who I’m friends with or who I sleep with, because we’re _not in a relationship._ Don’t go around telling my friends what _they_ mean to _me_ when it’s **you** who means _nothing_ to me in the end, you insignificant _insect._ Now get out of my sight, and _stay there!”_ And with that, the blond tossed Phoenix aside, fists still clenched and mouth set in a snarl as the other dancer hurried off, running for the door.

 

Gold eyes softened almost instantly as Cipher turned to Dipper and the brunet could see the facade slip, Bill shining through, “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

 

Shaking his head, Dipper held out Bill’s bag with a small, scared smile, “N-no. Just shook me up a little is all. I’m alright.”

 

A sound that could only be compared to a growl escaped the dancer as he unzipped the bag, throwing the sweater and sweats over his uniform, not even bothering to take off the collar, “I’m… sorry you had to get involved in that.”

 

“It’s not your fault, Bill. He’s the one with the issues.”

 

“Let’s… let’s just get home, alright?” There was something in Bill’s voice that had Dipper concerned and he fell into step beside the dancer, smiling at the guard as they left but keeping a careful eye on Bill as his facade slipped further and further.

 

Cipher’s rage and confidence melted and left behind an all-consuming fear, a hollow look in gold eyes and the dancer stumbled, Dipper catching him before he fell to the ground in the alley behind the club. The instant the brunet’s arms were around him, Bill burst into ragged sobs, clinging to Dipper with everything he had, gasping like a drowning man in an attempt to catch his breath.

 

Shocked and worried, Dipper held Bill close, rubbing his back and humming softly, trying to calm the blond as best as he could, “Shh, shh, it’s alright. You’re alright. I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

 

“Can’t… can’t do this again.. Can’t believe…. can’t believe I let this happen….” The blond’s words were jumbled, whispered out between sobs and tearstained cheeks buried into Dipper’s shoulder before he was composed enough to walk again with a blank face, sobs still wracking his body from time to time.

 

Dipper left an arm across Bill’s shoulders, holding the dancer close as they walked the rest of the way back to the apartment. Taking the dancer’s phone, he plugged it in and started the violin playlist, though he wasn’t sure what good it would do tonight. With that done, he sat down on the couch, expecting Bill to join him, but instead the dancer was standing in the center of the room, staring down at his hands in horror as he scratched at the skin, red marks already appearing where his nails had dug in.

 

Standing up, Dipper carefully reached for Bill’s hands, slow so as to not seem a threat, “Bill, _stop._ You’re hurting yourself, you can’t do this. Come here, come sit with me?”

 

The blond looked up as if he were looking through Dipper rather than at him, but he nodded, agreeing and letting himself be pulled slowly over to the couch, settling in beside Dipper while the brunet caressed the hands he’d been ripping apart moments ago.

 

“I should have known,” the words were spat with such a terrifying self loathing that Dipper was instantly concerned as he looked over at Bill, who’s face was still frozen in horror, but who now held a hatred in his eyes, “He was _just like Erik,_ why didn’t I _see it?_ I let him _touch me._ I let him _dance with me._ I let him _fuck me….”_ Disgust boiled up in Bill’s voice and he began to sob again, hands clenching into fists in Dipper’s grasp, whole body shaking in panic.

 

Slowly, Dipper reached over and pulled Bill so that he was resting against his chest, rubbing his back and pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “Shhh, shh. It’s not your fault, Bill. People don’t show signs of this when you first meet them. They hide their true colours and trick you. It’s not your fault, not in the slightest. You’re the _victim.”_

 

The dancer remained frozen for a moment more before collapsing against Dipper’s chest at the word ‘victim’, clutching into Dipper’s flannel and burying his face in the taller man’s chest, sobs wracking his slight frame. “I’m disgusting….”

 

Dipper frowned deeply, holding Bill closer and pressing another kiss to his head, “No, Bill. _He’s_ disgusting. You’re _wonderful,_ you’re _amazing,_ and you’re _so strong._ You’re more than he could ever hope to be…” He let his words trail off there, lest he reveal too much and scare the dancer away, frightened as Bill already was.

 

Though the blond didn’t protest his words, Dipper knew he didn’t quite believe them either as he sobbed again, quietly crying into his shirt until the sobs slowed, Bill’s breath evening into the rhythm of an uneasy sleep, a frown replacing his usual peaceful smile.

 

Dipper held on to Bill the whole night as he slept in cycles, waking up screaming in night terrors and staring with wild eyes before Dipper convinced him of his safety and coaxed him back to sleep.

 

Dipper had never seen a sadder sight.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ashes  
> ashes  
> we all fall down


	9. Of Masks and Unmaskings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from Phoenix and Cipher's argument is worse than Dipper could have imagined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would say i'm sorry but i'm not  
> tw for the slightest mention of self harm via scratching
> 
> the song cipher sings to dipper is Vegas Lights by Panic! at the Disco https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aIs7QtCsUAg

When Dipper woke the next morning, he was disoriented and there was a kink in his neck. At some point in the night he’d passed out sitting up on Bill’s couch, with the dancer half curled up in his lap… though Bill was nowhere to be seen now.

Dipper looked around with concern before getting up with a pained groan, trying to catch sight of Bill. He walked past the entryway to the kitchen to find the dancer sitting at the dining room table, a mug in his hand. He was staring down at the liquid- tea, if Dipper knew anything about Bill- with a blank expression, though when he heard Dipper walk up, he looked over with a small, tired smile.

The dancer’s hair was mussed, the glittery makeup still staining his face, kohl liner finally starting to run at the corners of his eyes. Gold eyes were ringed with dark circles, red and bloodshot from crying, but at least the tear tracks on Bill’s face were dry.

“Mornin’, Pine Tree,” Bill gestured to the kitchen with that same, sad smile, “Coffee’s in the pot for you. I’ll get started on breakfast in a minute, just gotta finish my tea. I’m a little behind schedule this morning, sorry.”

Flashing Bill a smile, Dipper shook his head and waved off Bill’s concerns, “Don’t apologise. You had a rough night, you’re allowed to have a rough morning. And a cup of coffee more than makes up for anything, you know I can’t resist your coffee.”

The chuckle that came in response was weak, but audible and Dipper smiled as he poured himself a cup of black coffee and came to sit at the table with Bill, the both of them sipping their drinks in companionable silence.

“Thanks, Dipper… For last night and all…” Bill’s voice was quiet and the lack of a nickname had Dipper looking over, brow furrowed.

“Don’t mention it, Bill. That’s what friends are for…” He paused a moment, thinking over his next words before speaking, “How’re you feeling today?”

A sigh came in response as the dancer shrugged his shoulders, getting up with a smooth motion and placing his mug in the sink, “I’ll live. I’ve been worse. Just means I’ll have to psych myself up a bit harder this evening.”

Curiousity tinged Dipper’s expression but he can tell from Bill’s body language that his friend wasn’t up for talking about it all, so he simply sat and drank his coffee, “So, what’s for breakfast, hmm?”

A familiar grin split Bill’s face and for a moment Dipper was relieved, thinking everything was back to normal now. That was an expression he was used to seeing.

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

French toast and freshly made whipped cream was definitely a good breakfast, and Dipper was left feeling more than a bit better afterwards, Bill seemed to be doing better, falling into their usual routine.

Once breakfast was finished, the dancer spirited off to take a shower and clean the makeup off of his face, leaving Dipper alone in the living room. The writer booted up his laptop, intent on finishing the chapter he’d abandoned last night, but his mind kept wandering to Bill’s face last night, how he’d fallen from haughty, confident Cipher to a terrified young man in a matter of instants, the moment he was out of sight. And how Bill had clung to Dipper like a rock in the ocean, consumed by his fears.

A flurry of emotions raged in Dipper’s heart, anger at Blaine for causing that reaction, and at Erik for hurting Bill in the first place, concern for the dancer himself, who seemed to be coping just fine now but who could very well be hiding his true feelings, and a strange sort of pride that he was trusted enough to be allowed to watch the collapse of that facade, to be there to comfort Bill when he needed it most.

Bill had needed a best friend in that moment, and a best friend he had.

Sighing, Dipper returned to his writing, albeit with less finesse than he had the day prior. His thoughts kept drifting, listening to the sound of the shower in Bill’s room and hoping that the dancer was alright, wasn’t just putting on a facade again.

When the dancer finally emerged from the shower, his skin was flushed from the heat of the water, hair still damp at the tips. He flopped down onto the couch beside Dipper, not saying anything, just putting his head on the writer’s shoulder and looking over at the laptop.

“Read what you’ve written to me? Since I… didn’t get a chance to hear it last night?”

Never one to say no to such a request, Dipper smiled and resettled himself so that Bill could rest comfortably on his shoulder without it cramping and began to read.

The rest of the afternoon was spent much the same, with the pair falling into silence once Dipper had finished reading, Bill staring intently at the pictures on the mantle as the brunet typed, looking over at the dancer from time to time. He’d pulled away from Dipper and was curled up with his arms around himself, a thoughtful expression on his face, too deep in his musing to be bothered, and concern clenched at Dipper’s heart again.

Something was wrong, that much was obvious. But it was also obvious that Bill wasn’t going to talk about it, wasn’t going to acknowledge it. And that meant Dipper couldn’t either.

Usually, Bill didn’t start a playlist until he was finishing up cooking dinner, the songs building up until they were actually dance numbers at the very end, letting him practice and loosen up through washing dishes and putting them away. Today, he glided over to his speakers and plugged in his phone just as he was starting to cook, and the difference in playlist was immediately audible.

Rather than the slow build of his usual playlist, this set began with heavy bass and a rhythm that had Bill twisting his torso and grinding his hips against the counter, an entirely different energy charging the room as he cooked.

Dipper watched in a mixture of intrigue and fear as Bill turned into Cipher before his very eyes in the span of a couple of songs, mouth stretched into an empty grin, eyes hooded with a charaded sort of lust. Sex dripped off of Cipher like wax from a candle and he soaked it up, gasping in time with the music and his dance as he cooked.

The brunet had never been more turned on- or concerned- in his life.

While Bill had a fondness for singing along to the songs as he psyched up, Cipher seemed to see no need for this, simply tossing his mouth open and letting his breath come in heavy pants as he threw himself into his dances like a puppet on strings. More than once, heavy lidded golden eyes came to fall on Dipper where he sat on the couch and the dancer blew him a kiss, licking his lips after with a lascivious purr before continuing and ignoring him once again.

Dipper was used to being able to talk to Bill while he psyched up, while he cooked, and while they ate, but with Cipher, conversation was nearly impossible. There was a wall between them, created by Cipher’s ethereal air and Dipper’s nervousness around the dancer’s facade, and thus dinner passed in silence, broken only by the occasional hums from Cipher’s throat, the dancer’s eyes closed as he swayed his neck and torso to the music, compelled even as he sat and picked at his food.

When they were done eating, Dipper picked up the dishes and carried them to the sink. He doubted Cipher would be in much of a mood to clean dishes, the dancer seemed much more occupied with turning his living room into a stage, dragging his hands across his torso and face, mussing up his hair and losing himself in the music. Dipper couldn’t help but let his gaze be dragged back to Cipher from time to time, a flush colouring his cheeks and a tightness in his throat at just how far gone the dancer was. Somehow in the midst of it all, Cipher had put on his base layers of makeup, but Dipper couldn’t recall ever seeing the brushes in his hand, one moment his face was clean and the next it was dolled up in harsh lines and sweeping curves, cheekbones thrown into relief under a dusting of glitter.

Turning away again, Dipper made himself focus on the dishes, trying to ignore the heat coiling in his stomach, the sudden constricting quality to his jeans, the flush in his cheeks, and the drought in his mouth.

The song shifted and Cipher’s soft gasps fell silent and for a moment, Dipper thought that perhaps he was finished and would be heading off to work, but those thoughts were silenced by a hand that found his waist, its twin crossed up and over his chest to splay fingers across his shoulder, neck cupped in the space between Cipher’s thumb and forefinger. The dancer was pressed up against him, fabric the only thing keeping them from being skin on skin, and suddenly Dipper found himself becoming a prop, a set piece in Cipher’s private show.

As the song reached its chorus, Cipher’s lips trailed up until they were just below Dipper’s ear, whispering the words as he thrust his hips in time to the music, grinding on Dipper like any of his dancers, “The deep end, we’re swimming with the sharks until we _drown.”_ The dancer’s voice was a low growl, laced with lust and Dipper felt his knees go weak just as he was released from Cipher’s grasp, the dancer letting go and trailing his hands over Dipper’s chest for a moment more before he was gone, dancing out the door.

Holding on to the edge of the counter for dear life, Dipper struggled to catch his breath and control his body’s reactions. It meant nothing, Cipher’s dance meant _nothing,_ he shouldn’t be attracted to it. He was Bill’s best friend, he couldn’t let his libido ruin that.

Even if Cipher was determined to seduce him into his grave.

Dipper was restless for the rest of the evening, his mind wandering back to Cipher’s hand at his hips, Cipher’s lips at his neck, Cipher’s voice in his ear, and in the end he decided to take a shower and try to rinse the sensation from his skin.

When he entered the bathroom, he was appalled at the mess that met his eyes.

The dancer’s makeup was spread out across the counter, not neatly away in its proper drawers, and the towels were tossed in a corner, some of them dotted in places with red.

Any lingering lust Cipher had inspired was instantly swallowed up by concern for Bill as Dipper picked up the towels and placed them in the laundry basket before setting about putting everything away, arranging it all as he knew the dancer liked it.

The blood spots on the towels, though, were his biggest concern.

Dipper remembered the night before, Bill’s hands clenching and scratching at each other, and berated himself for not noticing when Cipher had him by the neck and the waist. It was easy enough to guess what had happened, and how Cipher had likely covered it up with a bit more foundation and glitter than usual.

Anger flared up again in Dipper’s stomach to join the anger. Phoenix did this. Blaine did this. He put Bill in this place, and Dipper couldn’t let that slide.

Sleep that night was not peaceful for Dipper or Bill, when the dancer finally cooled down enough to sleep. He passed out with a frown on his face, twitching in his sleep and curling even tighter on himself than usual. More than once, Dipper was awoken by shaking and muttering, the dancer twisted up in the sheets and lost somewhere between sleeping and waking. Dipper watched over his best friend with a face twisted in worry and concealed hatred for the men responsible.

And the first day wasn’t the last.

The next two passed in much the same fashion, Bill waking in a daze and sitting to drink his tea in silence, barely speaking as he cooked breakfast and then disappeared, though Dipper was careful to look closely at his hands for any signs of further damage- the red lines from the first night were still fading under the makeup. Bill withdrew further and further into himself and started the hardcore playlist earlier and earlier in the day, slinking around the apartment as Cipher for hours.

While Dipper couldn’t deny that Cipher still held a manner of intrigue for him, more than ever now he was afraid of the dancer’s facade and the implications it held for the person behind it all. Cipher’s propositions were nearly vocal now, with how the dancer ran his hands through Dipper’s hair and placed a kiss on his lips before leaving with a wink, but the writer knew that it was all part of the act, all part of the persona that Bill was hiding behind, and it meant nothing if it wasn’t Bill kissing him.

Each night Dipper was left to muse in silence, concerned for his friend and hateful towards Phoenix, the dancer who thought he could rule Bill’s life, and who’s brought Bill great pain because of it.

And each night Cipher returned home and nearly collapsed back into Bill, facade crumbling like glass under pressure as he fell into bed, clawing at the sheets and burying his face in prayer for dreamless sleep.

It never came.

By the end of the week, Dipper couldn’t handle the shift any more, couldn’t handle watching Bill slowly become Cipher, couldn’t handle thinking that some day, he might not even switch back. And so after Cipher left for work, Dipper put his laptop away and changed his clothes, heading down to the club himself. He knew the dancer’s schedules by now, Phoenix wasn’t performing tonight, but they all stayed backstage to support their fellows. He’d be at the club.

The guard at the back door knew him now, recognised him from before and flashed him a smile as he opened the door.

“Cipher’s still dancing, kid, but he’ll be offstage soon enough. Just head backstage, you know where the dressing room is, right?”

Dipper nodded, forcing a smile in return as he shouldered into the club, “Yeah, no worries. Thanks!”

Making his way down the hall, Dipper slipped into the dressing room, catching sight of Blaine where he sat in plain clothes at one of the mirrors. The dancer’s face was softer without the harsh lines of makeup, but it was still set in a disdainful frown. Dipper was almost certain that was the only true expression he possessed.

Green eyes flickered up, meeting Dipper’s eyes in the mirror and Blaine’s mouth stretched into a sneer, “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing here, little boy? I _know_ Cipher didn’t call for you this time, he hasn’t even had his phone out lately. Did he finally toss you aside like I knew he would? Are you here to _beg him_ to take you back?”

If Dipper had been angry before, he was _livid_ now, yanking Blaine up from his chair by his collar and pulling him up to slam him against the wall, “Don’t you _dare_ talk like you know the _remotest_ thing about Bill. Or about me. Do you even know what you _did to him?”_

“I fucked him like a man with that face and body _deserves_ to be fucked. Which is _clearly_ more than can be said of you. Can you even get it up, little boy? Or did you just _disappoint_ him?” Blaine’s mouth was stretched into a mocking grin, clearly proud of his insults.

All it earned him was a rough shake though, knocked back against the wall as Dipper leant in closer, noses not an inch apart, “He’s a _person,_ you piece of shit. Not an _object_ to be used whenever you’re _**bored!**_ And certainly not to be treated like some simple _possession!_ He has _feelings_ and a heart of _gold_ and he _trusted_ you and you **_hurt him!”_** By the end, Dipper was yelling into the dancer’s face, hand dangerously close to choking Blaine.

“You don’t know _what_ you’re talking about! Cipher’s _fine!_ He’s been dancing better than ever lately!”

Disgust mixed in with Dipper’s hatred and he picked Blaine up again, tossing him back into the wall with a sick sort of satisfaction at the dull thump it created, “I don’t give a _shit_ about how _Cipher’s_ been **_dancing,_** Blaine. _Bill_ is _hurt_ and **you** hurt him. Bill. The _real person_ behind the _facade_ that is Cipher. The person you _never_ knew or _cared to know._ The person I _love.”_

And with that Dipper threw Blaine aside, breath heavy with rage and the dancer made a run for the exit, fear and rage mixing in his eyes. So lost was he in his rant that he hadn’t noticed the blond stepping into the dressing room, watching the confrontation play out before him with shock written across his face. It wasn’t until Dipper turned away from Blaine to leave that he caught sight of Bill standing there, eyes wide and mouth open and, if his eyes weren’t deceiving him, tear tracks on his cheeks.

“B-Bill, I.. I’m sorry.. I didn’t mean…”

But the dancer didn’t let him finish, rushing into his arms and burying his face into Dipper’s neck where the brunet could feel the moisture of Bill’s tears against his skin.

“Thank you, thank you… _thank you…”_ The words were whispered over and over again into his skin as Dipper wrapped his arms around Bill by reflex, rubbing the dancer’s bare back.

“W-why are you thanking me?”

Gold eyes peeked up, the dancer shifting so that he could look at Dipper, the smallest smile on his face, eyes shining through his tears, “Because you care about _me.”_

And for the first time in almost a week, brown eyes met gold and saw only Bill there, none of the facade that had consumed him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay updates are gonna actually be a bit slower soon because i start classes tomorrow and they'll be in full swing by next week~~


	10. Conflict and Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love's a tricky business when you're afraid of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm excited about this chapter and the next one so aah please enjoy. also enter stage left: someone new

Love was a terrifying creature to Bill Cipher, who had known it only in two forms: protectively familial and horrifically destructive. He knew love for his brother, the only family he had, knew of the pride born of that love, of the desire to see his brother happy. And he knew love that had taken possession of him and torn him to pieces and spat him back up, bloody and bruised and changed.

 

Of those two types of love, Bill only wanted to know one ever again.

 

And naturally it was not the sort that caused his heart to clench in his chest when he looked over at Dipper, hair tossed over his face, eyes closed and mouth open in sleep.

 

_“The person I **love!”**_

 

The phrase had replayed itself a dozen times since that night, probably more if Bill was being honest with himself, but he preferred to err on the side of caution… and sensibility. Focusing on such a simple statement was idiocy, really. Dipper had said it himself when they got home, he’d lost himself in the heat of the moment.

 

Friendship was a type of love, wasn’t it? One Bill was unfamiliar with, but a type nonetheless. And surely that was the only love, if any, Dipper felt for him. The writer knew him too well to want anything else, after all. No one in their right mind would fall in love with someone like him.

 

For the longest time, Bill had thought the feeling was mutual, that it was impossible for him to love again, that he’d succeeded in closing himself off and keeping himself safe. And then Dipper Pines had to come along and change everything, found a crack in his shell and wriggled in and made his home in the dancer’s heart, where no one was welcome.

 

Sighing again, the dancer stared across the semi-blackness of his room, at the distance between the two of them, Dipper’s face peaceful in sleep.

 

He let the other man _sleep_ in his _bed…_ He should have realised how far he had fallen ages ago. No man ever shared his bed for more than an hour, let alone while he rested in it. No man was granted that level of intimacy, of closeness.

 

No man, of course, but Dipper _fucking_ Pines.

 

Bill sighed again before turning over to face the wall, it was easier to push back his feelings when he wasn’t looking at Dipper, easier to forget that the man was within reach, but out of touch.

 

No one in their right mind would fall in love with Bill Cipher.

 

Gold eyes slipped closed as Dipper’s words repeated in his mind again, laced with the cynicism that accompanied them now, the disappointment that came with the unspoken rejection. Dipper loved him as a friend, and that should have been enough.

 

But Bill was in too deep.

 

Dipper spent the afternoons in his own apartment most days, as Bill had errands to run or dances to practice and couldn’t very well play host during those times. Each morning he made his friend breakfast and showed him out with a promise to text him when dinner was nearly ready, and each day Dipper headed off with a smile and a wave, an excited ‘Catch you later!’ before he was gone and Bill shut the door, trying to clear his head.

 

Today, though, the dancer had no errands to run and couldn’t do much vigorous work, as he was dancing that evening. So his afternoon was consumed with a bit of tidying here and there, and then devoted to his weekly ritual of a call to his brother upstate, a check in since they only saw each other very rarely.

 

“So, how’s my favourite doctor doing this week?” Bill was settled on his couch, a smile on his face as Will answered the phone with a laugh.

 

“As good as any week, I suppose. I had to send a little girl to the hospital, though, and that’s never fun. I’m going to go down and check up on her tomorrow, since she’s being kept overnight,” there was a touch of sorrow in Will’s voice, but he tried to keep the mood high and shift the topic of discussion, “What about you? What’s for dinner tonight for you and your… friend?”

 

Bill couldn’t help but frown at the mention of the girl, but he knew a change of topic when he heard one and didn’t press for details, instead laughing a bit forcedly and shrugging, “Pan-seared salmon over cous-cous. Nothing special tonight.”

 

“Nothing special? Sounds like a five-star meal to me, Bill. Much better than anything he’d be eating otherwise, I’m sure,” there was an indulgent amusement in his brother’s voice as Bill sighed, rolling his eyes.

 

“That would be true of _anything_ I made, Will. The man can’t feed himself, I’ve _told you this.”_ There was more vehemence in the dancer’s tone than there had been as of late, and his brother was quick to pick up on it.

 

With a hum, Will posed a careful question, “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it? You’re more on edge than usual today…”

 

Bill let out a disgruntled sigh, shaking his head though Will couldn’t see him. Somehow, he knew his brother would get the sentiment, “It’s… nothing. I’ve just… been feeling a bit off lately. Not on top of my game.”

 

“You know if you’re sick you should be calling me right away, Bill. I won’t have my own brother catching ill because he can’t get to a doctor,” Will was already falling into the concerned but detached voice he used with patients and Bill had to nearly groan into the receiver to stop his brother’s tirade.

 

“Not _that_ kind of off, Will. I promise, the second I get a fever or a sniffly nose or a tickle in my throat, you’ll be the first to know. But this isn’t the kind of sick you could help me with,” Even saying it aloud had the dancer grimacing, a sour taste in his mouth as he sighed yet again, “It’s not the kind of sickness _anyone_ can help me with. It’s just the sort I need to get over.”

 

There was a pregnant pause, Will clearly turning his words over across the line, “...My god, you’ve finally realised it, haven’t you?”

 

“Realised _what,_ Will?” Suddenly on the defensive, Bill’s voice took on a sharp edge, mouth set in a line, eyes narrowed.

 

“That you’re in love with that tall boy you’ve been stealing for meals these past couple of months. Who, by the way, you haven’t even introduced me to yet, which is _terribly_ rude and-”

 

“I’m _not_ in **love** with **_Dipper!”_**

 

Now it was Will’s turn to sigh, and Bill could almost hear his eyes rolling in his head, “And _I’m_ not a practicing family doctor. Are we done playing the opposite game now? You’ve been in love with him for weeks, Bill. Doesn’t take a genius to see it.”

 

If there was one thing Bill hated, it was being wrong. Especially when it was Will correcting him, as Bill preferred to maintain his dominance as the (slightly) older twin. His sigh was somewhat closer to a disgruntled growl, _“Fuck me,_ how did this happen?”

 

“I don’t think _I’m_ the one you want to be asking for that, Bill, but it was good practice,” a laugh spilled over, Will nearly giggling across the line before he could contain himself. Once he’d regained his composure amidst a smoldering silence from Bill’s end, he cleared his throat and continued, “Really, I don’t see the problem. Just _tell him._ What’s the worst he’s gonna do?”

 

“I _don’t know_ and that’s the _problem,_ Will! What if he’s disgusted? What if he laughs? What if he _leaves?”_ Bill’s voice was raising with each question, clearly on the verge of hysterics.

 

“Hey, hey, calm down Bill. Deep breaths… Deep breaths…” He waited until Bill had taken a couple of breaths and come down from the crest of panic to continue, “You’re overthinking this. From everything you’ve told me about him- and you’ve told me a lot without telling me much, mind you- he doesn’t seem like that kind of person. Even if he _doesn’t_ like you back, I’m sure he won’t stop being your friend. If he does, he was never your friend in the first place.”

 

The last statement had a shard of ice slicing through Bill’s stomach, the very prospect freezing him to the core. What if Dipper really didn’t care about him in the slightest- No. No. He’d gone out of his way to defend Bill, and without expecting anything in return. He had to at least care a _little bit_ … “I can’t just _tell him,_ Will. How would I even go about it?”

 

“It doesn’t have to be some big, extravagant thing, Bill. Bring it up at dinner. Or, if you want it to be something more romantic, buy him flowers. Bake him a cake. Do whatever you think is most… you.”

 

Groaning, Bill flopped from a seated position to simply lying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, “I’m _twenty six,_ Will. I shouldn’t be _having_ these issues. I feel like a _teenager again.”_

 

“Well, maybe it’s time you got a chance to be one,” a wistfulness came into Will’s voice at that, a guilt and the sting of an old wound unhealed, “Fall in love, run away for a weekend, wake up next to someone you love. He makes you _happy,_ Bill. Genuinely happy, in a way I haven’t seen head or tail of since we were _kids._ I think that’s worth taking a chance on, don’t you?”

 

Sighing, Bill accepted his fate with a nervous coil in his stomach and buried his face in the side of the couch, groaning into the cushions, “You’re right. I _hate_ that you’re right, but you’re right.”

 

Will was laughing again, softer this time, “I want that in writing someday, Bill. Don’t get to hear it often. Everything will work out, I promise. And if it does go south, I’ll come down there and give Mr. Tall, Dork, and Handsome a talking to myself.”

 

At the quipping insult, even Bill had to laugh, shaking his head at his brother’s easy-going humour, “I’m sure he’ll be shaking in his sneakers, Will. You’re _terrifying,_ after all.”

 

“I’m a doctor, of course I’m terrifying.” The deadpan statement had both brother’s laughing, a bit of Bill’s anxiety alleviated by the friendly banter when a beeping interrupted the call, “Oh, that’s the office. Might be a status update. I’ll talk to you later, Bill.”

 

“Yeah. Later. My best wishes to your patients, Will.”

 

The call ended on that note and Bill looked over at the clock on the wall. It was about time to start cooking dinner anyway, and cooking would keep his mind off of things, at least.

 

Putting on some lighthearted pop music, Bill set about preparing the cous-cous and the salmon before texting Dipper just as he was plating the food, not wanting any of it to be cold when the writer arrived. He opened the door with a smile and gestured to the table as always, grinning when Dipper’s mouth opened in shock.

 

“You’re spoiling me again.”

 

Sitting down to dinner himself, Bill rolled his eyes playfully, shrugging, “No, I’m spoiling _myself._ You just _happened_ to be invited.”

 

The laugh that rolled forth from Dipper’s lips had Bill’s heart clenching in his chest, a smile tugging at his lips by instinct, called into place by the writer’s grin.

 

Oh, how he _loved_ to see Dipper smiling….

 

As always, dinner conversation was minimal, though Dipper did ask after Will. By now, the brunet knew Bill’s schedule well enough to recognise that Tuesday afternoons belonged to his brother up in Portland. And Bill was more than happy to talk about his brother, even when avoiding the bulk of their conversation.

 

It wasn’t until Dipper settled into the couch, laptop open, and Bill shifted his playlist to the usual psych up mix, that his anxiety faded away. He hadn’t brought it up today, but he hadn’t promised he would, either. He had time, he would think up a way to do it that resulted in the least awkward situation, and only _then_ would he consider telling Dipper.

 

For the moment, nothing had to change.

 

Humming along to the music, Bill sped through washing the dishes and placing them on the rack to dry. Occasionally, his humming turned to singing, gold eyes slipping closed as he lost himself in the music, a small smile on his face.

 

Sure, the hardcore mix got him into character faster, but he preferred this, preferred being able to enjoy the music and let it wash over him, to enjoy it all as himself.

 

As he danced around his dining and sitting room, the smile lingered on his face, sways of the head matching dips of his hips, a dance more fluid and connected than Cipher’s, more grounded and personal. And when gold eyes opened, they found deep chocolate irises tracing his movements, a bright light in their depths, Dipper staring with an open mouth and flushed cheeks.

 

“You’re… you’re more beautiful when you dance,” Dipper’s flush deepened, clearly in embarrassment now as he ran a hand over his hair and Bill stared at him in confusion.

 

Head tilted, he stepped closer, still naturally swaying to the music, “You’ve seen me dance a thousand times… You’ve seen my _shows,_ and those are the best dances I can do… What makes this special?”

 

Burying his face in his hands for a moment, Dipper closed his laptop and stood up, looking embarrassed and uneasy, but with a confidence overlaying it, “No, I’ve seen _Cipher_ dance a thousand times. I’ve seen _Cipher’s_ shows. And, don’t get me wrong, those are _fantastic,_ but.. they’re not… **you.** When you dance… there’s emotion in it, there’s _passion…_ And that… that makes it much more beautiful.”

 

It nearly hurt, how Bill’s heart clenched at those words, how his stomach tied itself into knots, how tears threatened at the edge of his eyes, and he couldn’t stop himself. Closing the distance between them, he yanked Dipper down by his collar and pressed a single, soft kiss to his lips, leaning up on his tiptoes.

 

As he pulled away faster than Dipper could react, Bill whispered a single sentence before grabbing his bag and rushing for the door.

 

“I love you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ cackling ]


	11. Rebuilt and Reborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love's a two-way street, and for once, it might be on Bill's side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love my sons a lot okay i promise

The door clicked closed behind Bill and he was halfway down the hall before he slowed from a run to a walk, breath short not from exertion but from the thrill that was still singing in his blood. His heart beat a mile a minute, he could hear his pulse in his ears and feel it in his cheeks. His stomach was knotted with anxiety and excitement and danger and exhilaration.

 

And his mouth felt like fire where it had touched Dipper’s.

 

Swift footsteps took Bill to the club, where he arrived a bit earlier than usual- he’d left in a hurry, after all. That was all for the better, though, because he had a facade to put up and the emotions washing over him at the moment were far from that.

 

Cipher wouldn’t be nearly as terrified, nearly as excited, nearly as invested in what had happened only a few minutes before. Cipher needed to be entirely separate from that, aloof and cool and collected.

 

Looking at his face in the mirror, Bill saw the exact opposite of that.

 

His eyes were bright in a way they hadn’t been in years, lit from the inside with passion and more than a bit of fear, and they stared out from cheeks deeply flushed under his foundation and the thin dusting of glitter. It wasn’t until he caught sight of it in the mirror that he realised he was biting his lower lip, tongue tracing where Dipper’s lips had been. Blinking rapidly, Bill shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts from his head.

 

He’d _confessed t_ o Dipper. He’d **_kissed_** Dipper. And then _promptly_ ran out.

 

 _“Fuck.”_ The dancer buried his face in his hands as he sat in front of the mirror, groaning out in a mixture of desperation and uncertainty. What on _earth_ had he gotten himself into?

 

Just then, Chance walked in, bag slung over his shoulder as he looked over at the older dancer with a small frown, “You feeling alright, Cipher? You’re not looking so hot today.”

 

Sitting up, Bill grabbed a hair brush and began slicking his hair back piece by piece, using the methodical task to find his center, find his mask again, “Just a little queasy is all. It’ll pass. Thank you, though.”

 

The other dancer patted his shoulder in sympathy as walked past to sit down at his own mirror and get to work, Bill staring himself down and steeling himself back into Cipher.

 

It would be hard to maintain his facade tonight, to dance as Cipher in front of the crowds with Dipper’s words ringing in his ears.

 

_“You’re more beautiful when you dance.”_

* * *

 

Dipper stood frozen, eyes wide open as Bill spirited out the door, gone before he even had a chance to call out to him, or a chance to let the moment sink in. His fingers twitched, reaching for a person who was gone, who was likely out of the building by now, and in the end came to rest on his lips, still tingling with the pressure of Bill’s against his own.

 

When he gathered the presence of mind to move of his own accord again, Dipper smacked himself across the face, fully expecting to wake up with a start in Bill’s bed and see the dancer peacefully asleep next to him. But all that happened was a sharp sting in his cheek, the sound of flesh on flesh, and a pit dropping in his stomach.

 

He was _awake._

 

Feeling lightheaded, the brunet wandered over to flop down on the couch, resting his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. There was a pain in his chest and a dozen butterflies in his stomach, his breathing shallow. Dipper couldn’t see his face, but he could _feel_ the grin stretching his lips from ear to ear, straining at his flushed cheeks.

 

_“I love you.”_

 

The words were the only thought in Dipper’s mind, the only thread of consciousness he could keep for more than a moment.

 

Bill _loved him._ Bill **_kissed him._**

 

And he’d let the dancer run away without saying anything in return.

 

His shirt was still rumpled where Bill’s hand had grasped it, his mouth still warm where Bill’s lips had captured it, and he could still feel the arch of his spine, the slight leaning down required to meet Bill, the dancer up on the tops of his toes. Every inch of him was keenly aware and caught in the memory of kissing Bill- no, of being kissed _by_ Bill- and he hadn’t even touched the other man, hadn’t caught his hand and tugged him back, hadn’t picked him up to close the distance.

 

Dipper Pines sat on the couch and cursed himself for not recapturing Bill before the dancer flitted away, cursed himself for losing out on what could have been a longer kiss, cursed himself for not returning the dancer’s sentiments before Bill was nowhere to be found.

 

His stomach was turning in circles and tying in knots, his heart clenched in an equal mixture of anxiety and excitement.

 

Bill Cipher _loved_ him.

 

The thought had him reeling where he sat on the couch, a hysterical laugh bursting forth from his lips, the sound giddy and bright.

* * *

 

Bill’s facade was already crumbling as he walked to his front door and put the key in the lock with mild trepidation. He’d slipped up half a dozen times in his dance, breaking character for the first time in years. The audience hadn’t noticed, hadn’t caught the flash of a soft smile, the smoother caress of fingers across Fortune’s skin or through Nightshade’s hair, the cracks in his cold mask, because he caught them an instant in, but _he_ knew. He knew his mask was slipping.

 

It had never been this hard to keep Cipher’s cool, not even at the peak of his self-destruction, the trough of his self-loathing and paranoia. Cipher had always been collected and calm and perfect, _nothing_ could phase Cipher.

 

Nothing, that is, but the man Bill had ran away from not four hours prior.

 

It took Bill a moment to catch his breath in the hallway, preparing himself for what was surely an empty sitting room. Dipper wouldn’t stick around after that, certainly. The brunet had probably left as soon as he could. Bill probably wouldn’t ever see him again, except in passing.

 

Being loved by someone as tainted as Bill was hardly a compliment, after all.

 

Sighing, the dancer turned the key in the lock, opening the door and stepping inside nearly silently, though the sight that met his eyes had him freezing mere feet from the doorway, the door clicking shut behind him the only noise that broke the silence.

 

Dipper was seated on his couch, head in his hands, though the moment he heard the door click shut the brunet looked up, catching Bill’s eyes across the room.

 

The dancer stood frozen and flushed, posture tense as he looked down at the floor, unable to meet Dipper’s eyes, unable to own up to his own failures and shortcomings in the face of someone so… _accomplished._

 

It was nice, he supposed, that Dipper waited to say his goodbyes in person.

 

Golden eyes focused on the floor, Bill didn’t see Dipper stand up from where he was sitting and slowly step closer, pausing when a few feet separated them.

 

“Bill?”

 

The only sign that the dancer had heard Dipper’s words came with a clenching of his fingers, a catch in his breath. Bill refused to look up, focusing on a particularly interesting square of carpet, anything to stop himself from seeing the disgust in Dipper’s expression.

 

“Bill, look at me, please. Just for a minute.” Another step closer, the brunet reaching out to lightly touch Bill’s chin, nudging it upwards without being too controlling. He didn’t want to force Bill to meet his eyes, but he wanted Bill to stop staring down.

 

Slowly, and with more than a little reluctance, the dancer looked up, gold eyes meeting brown for a moment before looking past Dipper, not wanting to stare too intently. But in that flash, he hadn’t seen the anger he’d expected, hadn’t seen the disgust, hadn’t seen the condescension.

 

But the taller man wasn’t having any of that, his hand cupping Bill’s cheek and trying to coax the dancer back into looking at him, the smallest of smiles on his face, “I want to see your eyes, Bill. They’re one of my favourite things about you.”

 

Mouth twitching, the dancer slowly looked around before finding nothing to distract himself and looking up into dark eyes, gasping in surprise at the light and heat he found beneath the surface there. Dipper’s eyes glinted in the half-light of the room, the same spark there that Bill often caught when he was lost in his writing or poring over his notes. The spark of passion that had Bill’s stomach doing flips, a flush rising to his cheeks.

 

“There, that’s better. Much better,” Dipper’s smile widened, his thumb caressing the hollow under Bill’s eye, the edge of his cheekbone, touch light as a feather though the fire that followed it sharpened the sensation, “I did a lot of thinking, after you left… And I came to a conclusion, something you deserve to know.”

 

Despite the warmth in his face and the pounding in his chest, Bill’s eyes took on a hollow sort of sadness behind the curious expression that naturally fell into place. Expecting the worst, he spoke for the first time since stepping into the apartment, “And… and what’s that, Pine Tree?”

 

Dipper leant down, closing the distance between their faces to a measly couple of inches, that same fire in his eyes, albeit a bit muted now with a small smile on his face, a bit of humour in his voice, “One, that you run far too fast and I need to learn to be a bit quicker if I ever want to keep up,” and that had a bit of its intended effect, the dancer snorting despite himself before Dipper continued, “And two, that I’m deeply, madly in love with you, Bill Cipher, and I have been for months.”

 

And before Bill could even react, just as the words were sinking in and a shocked expression was crossing his face, gold eyes widened in pure surprise, Dipper leant down and closed the distance between them, pulling Bill’s face up by the hand on his cheek until their lips met with a mutual sigh of relief, a release of breath neither of them remembered holding to begin with.

 

He stood, frozen, for a moment before letting himself be caught up in the moment, leaning up into Dipper with a soft gasp and wrapping his arms around the taller man, one winding itself into Dipper’s hair and the other clutching at the fabric at the back of his shirt. In a vague corner of his mind, most of his thoughts consumed by the sensation of Dipper’s lips caressing his own and the words ringing in his ears and his heart, Bill was aware that he was crying, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes and sliding down his cheeks.

 

He could not for his life remember feeling this light in his life, this happy, this safe.

 

Eventually, though, they had to pull apart and catch their breath, faces still mere inches from each other, gasping out their breaths of shared air. Dipper’s breath caressed Bill’s cheeks like a hand and the warmth in his face sang up and down his spine, every inch of him on fire where he was touching the taller man.

 

The wide grin on his face wasn’t enough to quiet Dipper’s concern when he saw the tears, though, and the writer’s hands were instantly on his cheeks, brushing the wet streaks aside, “Bill? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

 

A laugh bubbled up from Bill’s chest, but it was broken by his lack of breath, thin and closer to a nervous giggle than anything, “I _love you,_ you big idiot! I’m crying because I love you!” _And because you love me back,_ went unsaid, but it was blaringly obvious in his tone and the way he was still clinging to Dipper, resting on the balls of his feet.

 

A matching giddy grin tugged at Dipper’s lips, hearing the words again was no less overwhelming than the first time, and his heart skipped a beat as he let his hands drop to Bill’s waist, lifting the dancer and pressing another kiss to his lips before peppering his cheeks and nose with feather-light kisses.

 

Bill’s eyes slipped closed and he fell lax in Dipper’s grip, melting into the touches and letting the taller man support him, high off the affection and love rolling off the writer in waves, “Tell me again… please.”

 

Pausing in his thorough kissing, Dipper moved so that his mouth rested just beside Bill’s ear, pressing a kiss beneath it before speaking, “I love you more than anything, Bill Cipher. Every piece of you. Every day I spend with you is a happier day than I could dream to have otherwise, and I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”

 

A breathless laugh escaped the dancer as he grabbed hold of Dipper’s hair, tugging him back in for another kiss, alive and alight with emotions he couldn’t recall ever feeling.

 

When they pulled apart again, Dipper still holding Bill up off the ground, the blond rested his head on the writer’s shoulder, humming as a sense of contentment washed out the worst of his anxieties. Somewhere, his self loathing still lurked and whispered that he didn’t deserve this, but he could ignore that now, wrapped up in Dipper’s warmth and light.

 

It wasn’t until Dipper set Bill back down on his feet that the dancer realised exactly how exhausted he was, physically and mentally drained by the evening, and he tugged at Dipper’s hand, taking hold of it and near-dragging the brunet to the bedroom before flopping down, still in his sweater and capri pants from the walk home but too tired to bother changing.

 

“Aren’t you going to join me? I’m _cold.”_

 

The teasing tone in Bill’s voice was outweighed by the actual pleading look he gave the brunet who was quick to take off his flannel and drape it over the chair in the room, climbing under the covers in his undershirt and shorts, a bit of distance between himself and the dancer, a reminiscence of the caution of the past few weeks.

 

Displeased, the blond huffed and shifted himself closer, pressing his back up against Dipper’s torso and sighing contentedly at the warmth the taller man gave off as he curled in on himself into his usual sleeping position. The shift was all it took to give Dipper a new rush of confidence, one arm falling into place across Bill’s waist, his head resting atop the blond’s and pressing a kiss into soft, damps locks of hair. “I’ll keep you warm, promise.”

 

A hint of a smile touched Bill’s lips where Dipper could not see them and his eyes slipped closed, more at peace than he’d felt at weeks, “I know you will, Dipper Pines. You’re the only one who can.”

 

With that, sleep claimed him in waves, free for once of the nightmares that had plagued him since Blaine’s betrayal and filled instead with a sense of safety and security.

 

It wasn’t until after Bill’s breathing had evened out into the rhythms of sleep that Dipper began to drift, whispering one last worshipful time into Bill’s hair, “I love you. I don’t deserve you, but I love you, and I will do everything in my power to keep that smile on your face.”

 

 


	12. A New Addiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up never tasted so sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have class in 8 hours and need to be awake in 6 and a half but here I am. Posting this instead.

Bill hadn’t slept soundly through a night without waking in years. Nearly always something jolted him awake, a whisper of sound, the creak of footsteps upstairs, a draft catching the corner of his blankets. And even if he only woke for a moment, he always awoke and drifted back to sleep, sleep cycle interrupted.

 

So when he awoke to light filtering through the blinds on his window, Bill was more than a little confused.

 

What confused him more, though, was the arm draped across his torso, holding him lightly, protective but not possessive, and the warm breaths through his hair, deep and even. For a moment, Bill froze in shock, but then the memories of the night before rushed back to him and a flush coloured his cheeks, his heart beating fast in his chest again.

 

He was in love with Dipper… _Dipper_ was in love with _him_ … And he was still here, in bed with him, warm and comforting and _present._

 

Bill couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so warm, so _loved._ He’d taken dozens of men to bed, but none of them ever stayed. He’d never wanted any of them to, never welcomed any of them to. This was an intimacy none of them had earned, none of them deserved. An intimacy he could only consider granting to one person.

 

With a small smile and a stretch, Bill turned over so that he was facing Dipper, watching the brunet with gold eyes still half-lidded with sleep. The taller man was roused by Bill’s shift in position, deep chocolate eyes blinking open slowly as a soft groan rumbled up from his chest.

 

“G’mornin’, Bill… Wha’time issit?” The brunet’s voice was heavy with sleep, slurred and words mixed together, but the smile on his face was bright nonetheless and it drew a twin from Bill whose shoulders shrugged.

 

“Not a clue, Pine Tree. Time for you to get a watch, maybe,” a laugh accompanied Bill’s words as he flashed a grin up at Dipper, cheeks still slightly flushed at their proximity.

 

There were only mere inches between them, but Dipper managed to lean over and lessen that distance further, an indulgent smile on his face, “Feeling cheeky this morning, are we? I’ll have to put a stop to that immediately…”

 

“Oh, and how do you plan on doing _that,_ exactly? What are _you_ gonna do to sto-” Mid sentence he was cut off, though, by Dipper closing the remaining distance between them and pressing his lips to Bill’s, a soft open-mouthed kiss that shocked Bill into silence, his flush returning in full force to his cheeks.

 

Not one to miss an opportunity, Bill leant in and kissed Dipper with equal, soft vigour, one of his hands coming up to cup the brunet’s cheek as he shifted so that their faces were equal, mouths pressed together and sharing breaths. Even when they pulled apart to exhale, their lips were mere centimeters apart before catching each other again, and Bill’s blood sang in his veins, a warmth spreading out from his chest to the farthest reaches of his fingers and toes.

 

Kissing just wasn’t something he was used to, not like this anyway. It was a tease, a trick, a quick battle of tongues and teeth before the main event for Cipher, but this was… different. This was soft and slow, no sense of a rush, no pressure to go anywhere but where they were. Lazy and warm and intimate, everything Bill had deprived himself off for years, everything he was starved for without realising it.

 

Time lost meaning as they lied together, mouths inches apart at most, limbs tangled and wrapped over each other, sharing gasps and ragged breaths and soft, low laughs. Eyes opened and closed intermittently, but smiles never fell from their faces.

 

They might have stayed there all morning, too, if Dipper’s stomach hadn’t protested, growling out its complaints and bringing their kiss to a pause, Bill laughing, bright and high from his belly, “How rude of me, to let my guest go hungry for my own appetites…”

 

A chuckle bubbled up from Dipper’s throat at that and he tugged Bill closer by his waist, a small smirk on his shoulders, “Far from rude, I’d take this over breakfast a thousand times over, even if you were the one cooking it.”

 

“Mm, kissing me’s that good, is it? Here I thought nothing could beat my food, I’m almost offended,” the statement was entirely teasing, mischief sparking in gold eyes as he leant up to press a kiss to the corner of Dipper’s mouth.

 

Humming, the brunet nodded, turning his head to catch the dancer’s mouth again, grinning, “That good and better. I think I’ve found a new favourite hobby.”

 

That had Bill pulling away with an embarrassed laugh, face flushed to high heaven, a bright shade of red dusting his cheeks and his ears, “You’re being silly, Dipper. Talking like a mad man.”

 

“I did say I was _madly_ in love with you, didn’t I?” Bill couldn’t contain his laughter as the brunet wagged his eyebrows and Bill shoved at his chest, shaking his head.

 

“You’re _hopeless,_ Pine Tree. Utterly hopeless.”

 

“Yeah… but you love me anyway,” the statement was made with a bit of a sheepish smile on Dipper’s face, and he looked down at the sheets before Bill gave a melodramatic sigh.

 

“Alas, that I do, Dipper Pines… That I do…” Bill’s voice was wistful, hearing that from his own lips was still unfamiliar, but it had his stomach flipping, butterflies fluttering in his chest. To conceal the flush on his face, Bill sat up and stretched toward the ceiling, cracking his neck with a moan of contentment as the tension left it, the noise calling a flush to Dipper’s face in turn.

 

“Whether you’d rather spend the morning kissing me or not, your stomach has other plans, Pine Tree. And I really need a shower, since I was too tired to take one when I got home last night,” And consumed by other priorities, but that didn’t need to be stated aloud as Bill stood from the bed, rolling his shoulders and cracking his back, mouth open as his muscles relaxed, “Give me ten minutes and then I’ll set about cooking… Unless you want to _join me,_ that is.”

 

The last sentence was spoken with a swiftly found confidence, a grin on Bill’s face as Dipper’s turned bright red and he sputtered, fiddling with his hair, “No-no, I don’t want to intrude. I.. I’ll wait out here…”

 

 _“Alright,_ well, if you _change your mind,”_ And with a wink, Bill turned his shoulder, the confidence falling out of him as swiftly as it had come, a nervous flush already on his cheeks again. What was he doing?

 

Dipper watched Bill go with his face still flushed and he couldn’t stop himself from pinching the skin of his forearm between two fingernails, wincing at the pain and confirming it again. He was still awake, lying in Bill’s bed, where Bill had been until only a moment ago, kissing him and curled up in his arms.

 

If this was heaven, he was glad to be dead.

 

Rolling out of bed, Dipper grabbed his flannel with a wide grin on his face, throwing it over his shoulder and wandering out into the kitchen to set water up to boil, his shirt draped over a chair at the table. Bill preferred that he not step foot in the kitchen, but he was allowed to set up tea and coffee. According to the dancer, even _he_ couldn’t mess that up.

 

Just as the tea kettle began to sing, Dipper heard the shower shut off and he set up Bill’s tea, spooning leaves into the pot before pouring the hot water in. By the time the blond was dressed, the tea would certainly be steeped enough to drink.

 

Pouring himself a cup of black coffee, the brunet sat down in his chair at the table and waited for Bill to spirit out of his room, sipping at the liquid as it cooled. For someone who loathed coffee in most forms with a burning passion, the blond had very good taste in it.

 

A few minutes later, Bill emerged wearing a pair of exercise pants and a thin tank top, hair still damp and clinging to his face in places, a smile on his face, “Mm, you made my tea. Thank you, Pine Tree.” On his way past the table, he took hold of Dipper’s flannel, draped across the chair, and tossed it around his own shoulders, sleeves rolled up to fit him properly. The shirt was more than a size too big for him, reaching past his mid thigh as he wandered into the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of tea and pulling out various ingredients from the cupboards.

 

Dipper had never seen a more endearing sight than Bill traversing the kitchen drowning in his shirt. It made his heart clench in his chest, a broad grin tugging at his lips again.

 

“So, what’s for breakfast, hmm?”

 

Turning to look over his shoulder, Bill flashed Dipper a smile and held up a package of blueberries fresh from the fridge, “Blueberry cinnamon pancakes. I saved the recipe last week when you mentioned liking the blueberry cheesecake.”

 

Having not even tasted the treat yet, Dipper moaned at the thought, downing the rest of the coffee, “Just send me to heaven now, Bill. You’re gonna take me there anyway.”

 

A laugh escaped the dancer as he set about starting the batter, rolling his eyes, “You know, kid, I get that a lot, but usually with a bit more gasping involved. And a little less promise of food.”

 

Dipper flushed at the implications in that statement before coughing and trying to clear the tickle out of his throat, “Well, I think I’d consider myself luckier, then. Because I can smell that batter from here and I don’t think anything could best it.”

 

The smile lingered on Bill’s face as he set about grabbing the blueberries, setting them out on the counter as he finished stirring the cinnamon into the batter, “Here’s hoping it tastes even better than it smells, then.”

 

Getting up to return his mug to the sink, Dipper paused to reach into the clamshell of blueberries, stealing a handful for himself and quickly shoving them into his mouth before Bill could stop him, the dancer turning on his heel and brandishing a batter-coated wooden spoon.

 

“Dipper Pines, get _out_ of my _kitchen._ If you _eat_ the blueberries, how will I make _blueberry_ pancakes?”

 

Holding up his hands in a mockery of surrender, Dipper placed his mug in the sink and then backed away, “Just testing them out is all. They’re fresh.”

 

Gold eyes rolled as Bill turned back around, stirring the batter again as he hummed to himself, “Of course they’re fresh. I got them from the farmer’s market on Sunday.”

 

The instant Bill’s back was turned, Dipper leant in and stole another handful of blueberries, grinning widely as he ate them, lips stained purple in places, “Mm, you picked a good batch.”

 

Again, Bill turned, spoon in hand, this time with fire in golden eyes, “What did I _say_ about eating the berries, Pine Tree?”

 

“Hmmm, you know, I can’t recall exactly…” Taking advantage of the flash of fury and indignation that crossed Bill’s face, Dipper’s hand swiped out and stole the batter spoon, licking the back of it. His eyes slipped closed at the taste, the cinnamon flavour was just right, not too strong, just enough to be there, “Something about the batter, maybe?”

 

He held the spoon up above Bill’s head while the dancer reached for it, mouth drawn in a snarl, “I _can’t_ make _breakfast_ if you hold my tools _hostage,_ you insufferable giant!”

 

With a grin, Dipper held the spoon out as if offering it back to Bill before shifting, pressing the spoon forward so that it grazed the dancer’s face, leaving a streak of batter there, “Oops, sorry about that….”

 

Snatching the spoon back, Bill was overcome with a vindictive spirit and reached behind him, grabbing a handful of flour and tossing it at the taller man, “Out of my _kitchen!”_

 

But the action had the opposite of the intended effect as Dipper stepped closer, grabbing the flour canister and grabbing a handful himself, tossing it at the dancer with a savage grin on his face, “Make me, Bill Cipher!”

 

A noise akin to a growl escaped the dancer and he took the spoon in hand and charged at Dipper, catching him off guard and knocking him to the floor. Unfortunately, the brunet’s hand caught the flour canister and it came crashing down with them, coating the both of them in white powder as Bill landed atop Dipper, sitting on his thighs and pointing the spoon at his face, batter dripping down from the tip.

 

“Stop _distracting_ me, I’m _trying_ to make you a good breakfast!”

 

Dipper laughed, leaning up on his elbows and taking the spoon in his mouth, licking yet more batter off of it, a mischievous grin on his face, “This works perfectly well for me, Bill.”

 

Bill’s lips were pursed in something akin to a pout as he looked down at Dipper, “Everything’s a _mess_ now… I wanted to make breakfast _perfect…_ Because.. Because… it’s… our _first…_ ”

 

A bit of understanding crossed Dipper’s face now and his smile softened as he sat up properly, one arm wrapping around Bill’s waist to keep the dancer in his lap, the other brushing Bill’s hair out of his face and displacing some of the flour, “You don’t need to do _anything_ to make breakfast perfect, Bill. You could have given me a bowl of cereal and it would have been perfect. Because it’s breakfast with _you_. I _woke up_ with you in my _arms_ this morning… _Nothing_ could make today anything less than _perfect.”_

 

If Bill had been flushed with anger before, he was flustered now, gold eyes focusing on a spot on the tile as Dipper’s words sank in, a giddy feeling choking up his throat and prickling at his eyes. He couldn’t find his voice, just biting his lips as the emotions overwhelmed him and he looked back to Dipper almost shyly, tossing a smile at the man beneath him.

 

Sitting above him with the near-demure expression on his face, Bill was irresistible to the author who instantly found himself leaning in and kissing the dancer again, holding him close and peppering his face with kisses, stopping intermittently to give him a proper kiss to the lips.

 

“How about we order in for breakfast today, hmm?”

 

As Dipper worked his way down Bill’s neck, placing a smattering of soft kisses against the skin, the dancer ceded with a sigh, tilting his head to the side, “Mm, fine… But just this once… And we’re both… showering again…”

 

The writer hummed his agreement into Bill’s collarbone before pressing a kiss in the hollow there and resting his head atop Bill’s shoulder, “You first, _you’ve_ got somewhere to be tonight. I’ll call down to the diner.”

 

All traces of anxiety wiped away, Bill laughed and leant down to press one last kiss to Dipper’s lips before he pulled away and stood, brushing the flour off his workout pants to little avail, “Mm, you know what I like. Order whatever you want, my treat, since breakfast was supposed to my job anyway.”

 

“Meals are always your job, won’t you let me treat _you_ for once, Bill?”

 

The dancer waved a hand, dismissing the offer, “The account for the address is tied to my credit card, Pine Tree. My treat by default.” And with that he was off again to attempt to rinse the flour and batter from his hair and face, clothes beyond saving.

* * *

 

Bill Cipher had known his fair share of addicts in his life, had seen the spark in their eyes when confronted with their fix, whatever it might be, had watched with sympathetic horror as they twitched in withdrawal, crying out for mercy. He had never known the feeling, never found something that captivated him so, terrified of the implications.

 

And yet, as he prepared to leave for work, he found himself gravitating toward Dipper, tugging the writer from his laptop to capture his lips, sometimes soft and sweet, sometimes with a bit more fire to match the music that settled over the room. A day, and he’d already gotten hooked on a new vice.

 

Who could have guessed that his drug of choice would be affection?

 

Just before he left, he stopped at the door, Dipper not far behind him to lock it, and for what had to be at least the tenth time that day, Bill leant up and ran his hands through Dipper’s hair, pulling him down for one last, searing kiss that left his mouth warm.

 

“I’ll miss you, Pine Tree.”

 

Pressing a kiss to the top of Bill’s head, the brunet laughed and opened the door for his boyfriend, “Knock ‘em dead, Bill. I’ll be waiting here when you get back.”

 

For the first time since his fight with Phoenix, Cipher walked into the studio with a spring in his step and a grin on his face. His hair was mussed, his shirt collar skewed, and when he looked in the mirror, he caught sight of the flush to his cheeks, the near-manic light in his eyes, the swollen red tinge to his lips.

 

Bill Cipher was thoroughly, deeply, madly in love and looked the part.

 

Chance was the first one to notice, having known Cipher the longest, and the other dancer came up behind him, clapping a hand down on his shoulder, “It’s about time, man. I’ve been waiting for you to come to for _months.”_

 

Looking up with incredulity, the blond dancer gave his friend a look, eyebrow raised, “Did _everyone_ know I was in love before I did?”

 

A chorus of yeses sounded from Chance, Jet, and Lissi, the three of them bursting into laughter as Cipher rolled his eyes, but the frown he responded with lasted only a moment. He was in too good of a mood to let their teasing bother him, it was all in good fun.

 

“You’re welcome, by the way. I did good in picking him out for you that night. I better be invited to the wedding, Cipher.”

 

The dancer laughed and shoved Chance aside playfully, shaking his head, “Yeah, yeah, you’re a romantic genius. A matchmaker. All praise and glory to you- who said anything about _weddings?”_

 

Chance’s only response was a laugh echoed by the two other dancers on his side of the room as he walked away to begin putting on his makeup.

 

Cipher turned back to the mirror with an indulgent sigh, a bright smile on his face as he set about finishing his own makeup, trying to conceal his kiss-bruised lips as best he could. A shiver passed across his spine and he looked up from his makeup pallet for a moment to catch sight of green eyes glaring at him in his mirror. Grinning, Cipher licked his lips, calling attention to the swollen quality of them before ignoring the other dancer who swiftly turned away and got up, leaving the dressing room.

 

Even Phoenix’s jealousy wasn’t enough to phase him tonight.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at my sons i'm so proud of them


	13. Public Affections and Private Dances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill's beginning to realise that touch isn't always taboo... and that sex isn't always controlled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO this chapter contains a long and explicit sexual encounter, if this makes you uncomfortable in any way, please let me know and I will give you an edited version  
> Also, if you want to hear the song Bill dances to (you'll know when it comes) the song is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNDRs0Iiv6Y&feature=related

In his whole life, Bill had only been in a single relationship before this one, and by no means was that an example to live by. Even knowing this, the blond couldn’t help but look back on that and attempt to find something to emulate, some way to distinguish a relationship from the friendship he and Dipper shared, without turning it into the impersonal trysts that had lost their appeal.

 

On the plus side, Dipper seemed a little more certain of how this was all supposed to go than he was, and was more than willing to take things a step at a time and show Bill a vision of normalcy in a healthy relationship.

 

The first thing Bill picked up on was the encouragement of small shows of affection. Public affection had never been his strong suit, Erik had discouraged it from the start of their arrangement in order to maintain an aloof public image, and Bill had never gotten the hang of it afterwards. Even hugging his fellow dancers when they ran into each other outside of work was a source of anxiety for him, a pit of worry in his stomach that there was something inherently taboo.

 

With a creature like himself, touch was meant to be reserved, spent behind closed doors and amidst the gasps and cheers of the crowd, or the soft moans and groans of a partner. He was an object, a device of pleasure, and touching him in public was a sin. That was what he’d learnt, what he’d been taught, and what, in the deepest part of him, he truly believed.

 

Dipper saw no such qualms, however.

 

The brunet’s arm was nearly always around his shoulders when they left the apartment, whether it was to shop for groceries or just to walk to the coffee shop on days deemed lazy enough to forgo cooking breakfast at home. It was nearly reflexive, the instant the door clicked shut behind them Dipper’s arm was around him, pulling him close into the taller man’s side.

 

The first few times, Bill couldn’t help but freeze, unsure of what to do in response. He tried to cover the shock with a smile, not wanting to draw attention to his failures and misgivings, but each time Dipper saw through the facade and gave a reassuring smile, squeezing Bill’s shoulder.

 

“Would you prefer to hold hands?”

 

More than once, Bill nodded to that suggestion and Dipper’s hand slipped down to grab his own, entwining their fingers and pulling Bill along as they walked. That point of contact alone was enough to have the dancer flushing, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips. He expected to have crowds stare as Dipper tugged him by the hand down the street to the coffee shop, or through the grocery store with glee, but no one gave them so much as a second glance.

 

Slowly, he stopped looking over his shoulder, stopped meeting every passerby’s eye with shame before looking to Dipper and expecting the taller man to pull away from him, to shy away from the judgement that society held for people like him. Slowly, Bill found himself being comfortable enough to take Dipper’s hand when they sat together in the coffee shop, looking down at their entwined hands and rubbing patterns into Dipper’s knuckles with his thumb.

 

It was baby steps from that to being able to put his arm around Dipper’s waist when the writer’s came to drape across his shoulders. Or to lean his head on Dipper’s shoulder and take a moment to enjoy the natural warmth the taller man put out, a good guard against the chill breeze of autumn on the horizon. Each action was tentative, the dancer prepared to have Dipper pull away in disgust or distaste at any moment, but each time Dipper responded with a smile and a squeeze of his shoulder, or by dropping his own arm further to caress Bill’s waist.

 

More than once, the writer pressed a kiss to blond locks of hair when Bill’s head came to rest tiredly on his shoulder and Bill felt his heart pause in its beats, the little show of affection enough to have his breath catching as he buried his face to hide the flush colouring his cheeks.

 

Sex was nothing to Bill Cipher, sex was second nature, came as simply as breathing. But simple affections? Those left him breathless in a matter of moments.

 

Of all of those affections, Bill would not abandon any, now that he was being introduced to them, but one above all others he was addicted to.

 

He was almost certain there was nothing more pleasant in life than kissing Dipper Pines and letting the author steal his breath away. It wasn’t as common in public as the others, but when it was, it came entirely spontaneously.

 

With fall coming into swing, Bill was drawn, as ever, to the nearest park. He loved to watch the leaves change colour and slowly fall, coaxed down by the winds that hadn’t quite picked up yet. Notebook in hand, Dipper followed after him. The author would sit beside him and take notes on the joggers in the park, the atmosphere, and sometimes entirely unrelated details.

 

More than once, Bill caught him jotting down notes that sounded suspiciously pertinent to himself.

 

_-Hair flips even more in the wind, a halo of curls._

_-More at peace only in sleep_

_-Easily chilled- in need of a thicker coat._

 

With a laugh, the blond lightly knocked Dipper’s notebook from his hands, flattered and embarrassed at the close examination, “What do you need those for, hmm? Not writing a book about _me_ , are you?”

 

Only a moment’s hesitation passed before Dipper was laughing too, picking his notebook back up and sliding the pen into the binding, “No, no, not about you. But I certainly could, you’re certainly enough of an inspiration to warrant having your story told.”

 

Scoffing, Bill looked away, back up at the sky. “I’m not that exciting, Pine Tree. Just another dancer in another club, that’s all,” His disbelieving comment strove to quiet the butterflies in his stomach and the pounding of his heart. His author thought he was an _inspiration…_

His author…. wasn’t that a novel thought in itself?

 

“You’re much more than that, Bill. So much more. Even if you can’t see it, you’re… _amazing,”_ Dipper’s voice was nearly worshipful and the dancer couldn’t stop the red that touched the tips of his ears, cheeks burning as he looked back at Dipper in shock.

 

Before he could protest again, the author was closing the distance between them, capturing Bill’s lips in a soft kiss in the middle of the park, where any number of people could see them.

 

There was no public outcry, no gasps or screams of horror, no lightning sent from heaven. There was only Dipper’s hand on his waist and Dipper’s hair under his fingers and Dipper’s mouth pressed against his own, soft and dry and warm. And from there it was easy to lose himself, to abandon his worries and let them be swept away by the hand in his hair.

 

Most weeks, Bill chose to go down to the club even on his off nights to support his fellow dancers. Sometimes he sat in the crowd in plain clothes, hood drawn up to prevent any of the regulars catching his eye, but more often than not he simply sat backstage, patting shoulders and backs before his co-workers took their places, a coach on their side of the field. He took his role as the entire company’s older brother and caretaker quite seriously and would do anything to make them more comfortable.

 

Experienced dancers like Chance, Jet, and Blaine didn’t need the confidence boost- though the latter pandered for it nonetheless-, but Bill knew Lissi and a couple of the other younger dancers still hadn’t found their comfort zone and appreciated the thumbs up, the playful smack to a half-exposed bottom, the kiss to a cheek or temple before the lights came up.

 

It was yet another perk Bill hadn’t known in his youth as a dancer at the Ring of Fire, something that would have helped him ease into his work without the months of terror and anxiety that preceded his development of Cipher. And Bill wanted to make certain none of his dancers ever felt like he did at the start.

 

Today, though the dancer didn’t feel like leaving his apartment. He had other plans in mind for his afternoon and evening. A quick text to Chance told the dancers not to expect him- he’d missed an off-night once because he’d been under the weather and woken up to a half-dozen missed calls and twice as many texts, a flurry of worry and concern.

 

It had warmed his heart even then, when he didn’t know what the sensation felt like. It had reminded him that his dancers were the extended family he’d always yearned for as a child, the network of siblings and cousins to turn to. And who he now had to warn of his absence before they proceeded to worry yet again.

 

Text sent, Bill changed from his jeans and sweater into more comfortable clothing, a pair of shorts that reached his mid-thighs and a thin tank top, flowing and easy to move in. Humming to himself, he walked out into the living room where Dipper was typing away at his keyboard, lost in another chapter of his book, most likely. Bill turned on a soft jazz playlist as he set about cleaning the sitting room, returning books to their shelves and dusting off the most unclean surfaces.

 

There was no way to get the glitter off of everything, of course, but he could at least make an attempt to keep the smooth surfaces clean- the carpet was hopeless.

 

Eyes closed, the dancer flitted about the room to the music, cleaning made into something much more fun and sensual than the usual mundane task. From time to time, Bill opened his eyes and looked over to catch Dipper watching him, a smirk on his face as he blew the writer a kiss. Each time, Dipper flushed a deeper shade of red and Bill drew a bit closer to the writer.

 

Placing the duster back in the drawer under the coffee table, Bill took a moment to walk over to the sound system, scrolling through songs before selecting one, a lascivious smile on his face. A turn of the dial had the volume raised, loud enough to permeate through the room now, a mood rather than a background noise.

 

The sound was enough to have Dipper looking up just as Bill reached him, a bit of shyness in his expression as he took the laptop out of the writer’s hands, closing it and setting it on the table. In the same, fluid motion, he moved the table further away, leaving him room to stand in front of Dipper.

 

“W-what’s up, Bill?” Dipper’s flush was touching his ears now as Bill stood over him, legs on either side of his knees.

 

The question brought Bill’s confidence back up, combined with the music that was coaxing his hips from side to side, “You mentioned liking it when I dance, I figured… You deserved to see just what _I_ can do.”

 

With the explanation done, Bill settled himself down onto the couch, straddling Dipper’s hips with his knees on the couch on either side. His hands came to rest on his boyfriend’s shoulders, lightly squeezing before he swayed his way down, hips coming closer and closer to Dipper’s before pulling away, mere inches between them. Leaning back, he repeated the process, coming closer this time and letting his hips press into Dipper’s stomach, tilting his head down to kiss below Dipper’s ear, “You can touch me, if you want.”

 

The softly whispered sentence was all the permission the writer needed before his hands slipped around Bill, one resting on the dancer’s lower back and the other threading up to twine into Bill’s hair, holding him close as the dancer laughed and rolled his hips down onto Dipper’s, breath spilling out onto the author’s neck. Bill’s own hands were wandering as well, touching every inch of Dipper’s skin he could reach, tracing the planes of the brunet’s chest through his shirt as his lips followed the column of Dipper’s neck, pressing kisses to the tendons and humming into the skin.

 

If Cipher’s dance was cold, aloof, and tempting, Bill’s was warm and present and personal, the dancer entirely involved in his motions. The difference was enough to have Dipper panting and gasping beneath him, clutching at Bill as the dancer laughed breathily into his ear, pressing little kisses to the skin.

 

As the dance progressed, the music no longer mattered to Bill. It was unusual, being able to slip out of the music so easily. For every dance he’d done, it was always the music that pushed him, the music that coerced the motions out of him, but now he’d left the music behind, following his own instincts and the magnetism that pulled him to Dipper, a warmth in his core that was half arousal half affection, entirely new and bright and _heated._

 

“Dipper… _Dipper…”_ Bill’s voice was closer to a keen than it had ever been, nearly a beg as he ground down onto the author, thin layers of fabric the only thing between them.

 

It took a moment for the author to focus and find his voice, mouth dry as he looked up at Bill, “Mm? Yes, Bill?”

 

Face flushed, the dancer placed his lips to Dipper’s ear, his words as much a plea as a command, as much a request as an order, “Take me to bed?”

 

The gasp that escaped Dipper was equal parts shock and arousal and he nodded slowly, tugging at Bill’s hair to get the dancer to look him in the eye before pulling him in for a kiss, mouths open and pressed tightly together. Between kisses and gasps, Dipper whispered out a reply, “Yes. _Yes_ , if that’s what you want….”

 

“More than anything, Pine Tree, more than _anything,”_ and if Bill’s voice cracked on that word, there was no mention of it as Dipper placed both hands on the dancer’s waist, lifting him up as he stood from the couch. With a laugh, Bill’s legs were swift to wrap around Dipper’s waist, both to support himself and to keep close contact, already drunk off the touch of the brunet’s skin. _“Now,_ preferably.”

 

The dancer couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted something so badly, couldn’t remember having such a fire in his skin and his chest and his belly. Sex had never been so enticing, never more than a passing desire, something to be swiftly fulfilled and sated, but this was all-consuming, a heat that seared his soul.

 

While the distance between the couch and the bedroom wasn’t a particularly long one, it was too long for Bill to go without returning his attention to the writer’s neck, bites and kisses pressed into the skin , marks already appearing on the skin. The soft bites had Dipper’s hands slipping, a moan escaping the author’s lips, “B-Bill, stop _distracting_ me, I’m gonna _drop you…”_

 

A laugh escaped Bill but he showed no signs of stopping, whispering into the skin, “I can hold myself up, darling… You just get us to the bed.”

 

Moaning again, Dipper quickened his pace, shouldering open the door to Bill’s room and attempting to place the dancer on the bed, but Bill wasn’t having any of that, freezing for just a moment before shaking his head, “You first, Pine Tree.”

 

A roll of the hips prompted Dipper to take the hint, sitting down on the edge of the bed and allowing Bill to push him backwards, resting atop his hips again. Gold eyes flickered over to the bedside table as Bill bit his lip for a moment, clearly conflicted. The black silk tie was there as it always was, his safety net and distance from the trysts he took home, his promise to be free of their touch, to ensure that they left no mark.

 

The symbol of Cipher’s control over every situation.

 

Reaching over to the table, Bill skated past the tie with a flip of his stomach, picking up a tube and a foil wrapper, dropping them both onto the bed beside him as he pulled back a bit and tugged his shirt up over his head, revealing the same lean, muscled torso that Dipper had seen the first night they met, all those months ago.

 

“I meant what I said… You can touch me…” It was a concession Bill hadn’t made in bed for years, a soft, whispered show of just how much he trusted Dipper, and the writer saw its importance immediately, hands going to Bill’s hips, caressing the jutting hipbones.

 

“Thank you.”

 

A small smile touched the dancer’s lips as he leant over, kissing Dipper lightly before he pulled away again to tug at Dipper’s shirt, “Piece for piece, match me would you?”

 

The writer grinned, leaning back and putting his hands over his head, letting his boyfriend tug the t-shirt over his head, exposing an entire expanse of chest that had the dancer purring. Original goal forgotten, Bill dropped to press himself over Dipper, kissing his way down the author’s chest and biting at the juncture of muscle, leaving a smattering of red marks as Dipper’s chest rose and fell in ragged gasps and moans of his name.

 

“A-ah, Bill, ss-don’t stop,” the plea was accompanied by a moan and coaxed a laugh out of the dancer who nuzzled into Dipper’s chest, licking and kissing at the marks he’d left.

 

“Wasn’t intending on it, Pine Tree. Nowhere _near_ stopping.”

 

It was easy to follow the plain of Dipper’s stomach down to the trail of dark hair leading below the waistband of his jeans, already clearly tented, straining at the skin. With a smirk, the dancer took that waistband in his teeth, tugging just enough to draw a keen out of the man beneath him before pulling back and sitting on his heels, staring down at Dipper.

 

Bill’s own chest was heaving, a pit of arousal coiling in his stomach as he watched Dipper, the author nearly writhing on the bed, pants and pleas escaping him in equal measure. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, but it was _who_ , not _what_ that drew Bill in. Any other tryst was blown away by this, by the image of Dipper’s kiss bruised lips parted, wet with saliva as his tongue dabbed out to moisten them, pale chest rising and falling rapidly.

 

It had been a long time since Bill had described anyone as beautiful, but Dipper Pines was the absolute definition like this, and the dancer couldn’t hold himself back anymore, couldn’t maintain the control he’d held all these years.

 

Sitting back on his haunches, Bill slipped his fingers into the waistband of his shorts, tugging them slowly down with a hiss as his erection got caught in the elastic before jumping free to stand at attention against his stomach. Dipper’s eyes shifted from his face to his hips then, but Bill had more in mind than simply teasing the writer.

 

“This… though… this is something I’ll do for _myself,_ Dipper,” Bill’s voice was breathy and on the verge of cracking, a soft whisper as he reached over, grabbing the tube and opening it with his free hand before liberally coating his fingers.

 

The image alone was enough to have Dipper groaning again, it was obvious where the dancer intended to go from there by the grin on his face and the fingers trailing down his chest.

 

Flexibility came in handy sometimes, the dancer would admit as he bent his knees, nails scraping down his own chest before he ghosted a hand over his erection, a touch just light enough to inspire a gasp, not enough to tempt him into truly indulging himself before his fingers trailed even lower. With a gasp and a widening of his eyes, Bill pressed his middle finger into himself in a single motion, bending it at the angle that made him see stars almost instantaneously, gold eyes rolling back into his head.

 

It wasn’t long before one finger became two, his first two digits scissoring inside of him and curling to press into the bundle of nerves that had him gasping, soft keens on the high end of his vocal range accompanying the ragged breaths. Bill's hips rolled down to meet the thrusts of his own hand, mouth open in a wide ‘oh’ as his eyes flashed open, golden irises merely thin rings around dilated pupils.

 

The heat coiling in his stomach told the dancer to stop before he threw himself over the edge, it was much stronger than usual, a pressure that threatened to burst at any moment as he let his eyes fall on Dipper’s face, the author watching him with hungry eyes. Slowly, Bill slid off his fingers with a sensual moan, face flushed at how loud the sound was, louder than anything he was used to making, but the embarrassment didn’t last long as he dug his nails into Dipper’s hips, just above his waistband, “Kept these on the… whole time? You’re a proud man, Dipper Pines,” and his voice dropped into a lower octave as he made swift work of the button, tugging the fabric away, “I’m afraid I’m too curious to let you keep that pride, though.”

 

The proud member that stood to meet Bill’s gaze didn’t disappoint as the dancer made swift work of Dipper’s pants and boxers. He’d never been so grateful for the brunet’s fondness for looser fitting pants. Skinny jeans, while delicious when on, were awfully difficult to get out of in a pinch.

 

Soon not an article of clothing remained on either of them and Dipper was sitting up, tugging Bill down to his level by his hair and pressing their mouths together. Bill was swift to return the kiss, tongue trailing out to lick at Dipper’s lower lip and along the author’s teeth, heated breaths shared between them.

 

Unable to contain himself, the dancer ground down onto his boyfriend, the two of them moaning softly as their erections came into contact, heat spiking in Bill’s blood. Patience, ever the only virtue that Cipher could maintain, failed him now. He _needed_ Dipper like he couldn’t remember ever needing _anyone_ or _anything._

 

Slim fingers snatched the foil wrapper off of the bedsheets, making quick work of it and taking the tube of lube in his other hand, coating his fingers and wrapping them around Dipper’s erect member, tugging at the skin and familiarising himself with it, a purr cooing out of his throat as Dipper’s breath caught, little whines accompanying the author’s breaths. Wanting to hear more of those, and louder, the dancer put a little more into his work, twisting his hand at the top and grinning as Dipper yelped, hands going to Bill’s hips.

 

“S-stop Bill… You’re gonna… gonna make me…” Dipper trailed off, words lost in sensation, but Bill didn’t need the sentence finished, pulling his hand away and picking up the unwrapped condom, rolling it down Dipper’s erection with ease, the process smoothed by the lube.

 

Sitting up on his knees again, Bill grinned down at Dipper, the debauched look of the author beneath him nearly undoing the dancer. To save himself from a premature end, he slid down onto Dipper’s dick in a single motion, mouth gaping open again at the mixture of pain and pleasure. He paused there for a moment, letting himself adjust amidst the gasps and curses of the man beneath him.

 

 _“Bill_ , _ **shit,**_ you’re… _fuck,”_ If there were other words in the English language, they couldn’t come to Dipper’s mind, the author’s fingers digging into Bill’s hips to prevent himself from thrusting upwards as Bill shifted atop him, gasping and keening from time to time.

 

Soon enough, though, the dancer was feeling comfortable enough to begin to rock back and forth, slowly at first with a bit of rotation to his hips, sliding back off of Dipper before tugging the other man back in, moaning softly and biting his lips to contain the sounds.

 

Once Bill began to move, Dipper took that as his cue to move as well, sitting up to better situate the blond in his lap and coaxing a sharp gasp at the shift of position, Bill’s eyes rolling back, hips snapping to match Dipper’s. One of Dipper’s hands wound itself into blond locks of hair, the other finding purchase in the skin of Bill’s back, nails digging in as he began to thrust upward to match Bill’s downward rolls, the dancer’s head tossing back in pleasure.

 

As the speed of their thrusting increased, Bill’s teeth slipped from his lower lip, a high pitched keen escaping him, nearly a scream of Dipper’s name as the brunet hit the place inside him that made him see stars, his own fingers digging into the author’s shoulders, nails breaking the skin. With a growl, Dipper leant closer, kissing at the column of Bill’s neck and speeding up the pace of his thrusts, wanting to hear more of those keens, more of those short, cut off screams.

 

And he was not disappointed, the dancer nearly coming undone with every thrust, face contorted in pleasure and sweat causing his hair to stick at his temples.

 

Dipper’s hand in Bill’s hair relinquished it’s hold, letting the blond toss it back to stare up at the ceiling between thrusts, column of his neck totally exposed. With that newly freed hand, Dipper trailed down Bill’s chest, memorising every hill and valley of muscle, scraping his nails over the raised nubs of flesh that had Bill’s breath leaving him in a quick exhale, nearly breaking their rhythm.

 

With no lower to go, Dipper wrapped his hand around Bill’s erection, stroking and pulling at it in time with his thrusts, and now, Bill could not hold himself together. Any gold in his irises was entirely consumed now, just the faintest line around black holes as he ground himself down harshly onto Dipper, voice breaking in a keening moan, _“A-ah_ , **Dipper!”**

 

Sensing his own release cresting, and knowing that Bill wasn’t far behind, if he was behind at all, Dipper took it a notch faster, mouth latching onto Bill’s shoulder right at the juncture of muscles. With a final thrust, he growled Bill’s name into the dancer’s skin, teeth piercing the flesh and that touch of pain threw Bill over the edge as well with a pitched scream, voice cutting off half way through the author’s name as his eyes rolled back.

 

For the first time in his life, Bill’s vision flashed white as he came before crashing down to black, a loss of consciousness as he collapsed down onto Dipper one last time. The author wasn’t much more put together, just barely holding on to Bill as the dancer came to, blinking in slow, lazy pleasure.

 

Bill’s grin was satisfied and sated, his cheeks flushed and a bright light in his eyes as he slowly pulled away from Dipper, letting the author slip out of him with a sigh. Too tired to do much more than that, he curled himself up next to Dipper, looking up into the author’s eyes, still red and panting from exertion.

 

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 2am. i have calculus at 8am. and this is what i'm doing.


	14. The Sweetest Aftertaste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something inherently liberating in falling so deep in love that you'd give your soul for another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the slower updates~ school combined with my new rehearsal schedule's gonna kick my ass

If there was one thing in life that was totally unfamiliar to Bill Cipher, it was the sensation of waking up in someone else’s arms, pleasantly warm and sore. Separately, the two were familiar. Dipper had held him as he slept every night since they’d begun their relationship, and Cipher had taken enough men to bed to know the burn in his sides and nether regions the morning after as well as he knew the sensation of hair falling in his face.

 

But together, they were entirely new, his body slotted close against Dipper’s, the taller man’s hands protectively splayed over his chest, breath ghosting over the back of his neck.

 

The dancer didn’t want to rouse his partner, didn’t want to clue Dipper into the myriad of thoughts racing around his head, but he couldn’t help himself, fingers trailing over the backs of Dipper’s hands, tracing designs and just enjoying the sensation of skin under his fingertips. Dipper had stayed, hadn’t spirited away in the night, hadn’t turned his back and slept apart from him.

 

Unbidden, a single tear fell from the dancer’s eye just as his boyfriend chuckled awake, pressing his face into Bill’s hair with a displeased groan, “Mn, s’not time for morning yet, is it?”

 

With a smile, the dancer nuzzled back up against Dipper, resting his head against the writer’s chest, “Not if you don’t want it to be, Pine Tree. I’d say it’s… not quite ten,” and Bill’s mouth opened wide in a yawn, gold eyes trying to blink away the lingering drowsiness.

 

“Too early… but also too late,” and at the second statement, Dipper’s hand wrapped tighter around Bill’s waist, pulling the dancer closer and letting his eyes slip closed, “Do you _really_ have to go to work today?”

 

That coaxed a true laugh out of the blond, his chest rising and falling under Dipper’s hands with the sound, “I’m afraid so, Dipper. I already skipped out on my coming to watch last night, if I miss my _actual_ shift, Chance and Lissi will be knocking my door down in concern.”

 

Groaning into Bill’s hair, Dipper let out a sighing breath before resting his chin atop Bill’s hair, fingers tracing the planes of his boyfriend’s chest, “Damn.”

 

Lightly, Bill patted Dipper’s hand in sympathy, a teasing smile on his face, “Think on the good side, I’ll be out of your hair for a while, you’ll be able to write without me distracting you.”

 

“Bill Cipher, you are the _only_ welcome distraction to my writing. Because you are my inspiration and I will drop anything for you,” and there was such sincerity in that tone, such _truth_ in the words that Bill stiffened and slipped his fingers through Dipper’s, needing something to clutch onto as his own words caught in his throat.

 

Bill knew what it was like to be lusted after, knew what it was like to be owned, but never had he known quite how being _wanted_ felt.

 

If this warmth was a part of it, Bill never wanted anything more than to be wanted.

 

Bill let himself settle into Dipper’s arms again, more than content to laze the morning away tracing idle patterns on Dipper’s biceps, humming along to a melody playing in his head.

 

But eventually, they were both called to action by twin pangs of hunger, laughing at the protesting growl that rumbled forth from Dipper’s stomach. Shifting and turning in Dipper’s arms, the dancer pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s lips before pulling away and letting his breath wash over the other’s lips.

 

“I think that’s our cue, hmm?”

 

Not one to be bested, Dipper pulled Bill back in for one more kiss before carefully extricating himself from the dancer, watching with mild concern as Bill sat up, the slightest wince passing over his face as he rolled his shoulders and cracked his spine. Bill didn’t seem too discomfited, though, despite the visible signs of the prior night’s events.

 

And something about those marks had arousal coiling in Dipper’s stomach again, though it was pushed away and contained as he simply allowed the pride to wash over him. It didn’t matter how many men Bill Cipher had bedded in his life, _Dipper_ was the one he’d given free reign to, Dipper was the one whose nails left parallel marks down the blond’s spine, whose teeth were imprinted at the juncture of shoulder and neck, a bruise blossoming across the skin.

 

Unable to stop himself, Dipper sat up and grabbed Bill by the waist, pressing a kiss to the mark he’d left and coaxing a gasping laugh out of the blond in his arms. The bruise was more than a little tender, but the pain simply factored in to the warmth Bill felt, the warmth the dancer was nearly drowning in.

 

Waking up after sex had never felt so _innocent._

 

It was in pulling away from that affectionate gesture that Dipper caught sight of something he’d never seen before. Right at the nape of his neck, and not larger than a couple of inches at the max, Bill had a keyhole tattooed into his skin. It was old-fashioned and simplistic, the kind you’d fit a skeleton key into to open a treasure chest or a wrought-iron gate. Dipper’s fingers came up to trace around the edge of the tattoo before he leant in to press a kiss to the pitch-black ink, a stark contrast to Bill’s skin.

 

Aloud he voiced no question, but his actions were curious enough to clue Bill in to what Dipper wanted to know, the dancer straightening his spine and letting his head fall to the side, lax in the writer’s arms. Bill took a breath before answering with a small, nostalgic smile.

 

“I got that the first week I moved here, right after the club hired me. It’s a promise to myself. I won’t let myself be anyone’s puppet or wind up doll anymore, I hold the key to my own body, and I choose who gets to see what’s behind that lock,” The dancer had to pause more than once in his explanation, nearly stumbling as he tried to find the words to describe what that tattoo meant to him, “It means… that my heart is safe because _I_ hold its key… and ultimately, it’s _my_ choice who I give that key to… if I give it to anyone.”

 

And at those last words, Bill turned his head to look back over his shoulder, the shyest of smiles on his face. He didn’t need to speak any further, the look on his face told Dipper just what he wanted it to- that he’d chosen exactly who to give that key to.

 

Once again, Dipper pressed a kiss to the tattoo, lingering against the skin and inhaling the scent that was inherently Bill before he whispered into the morning’s silence, “I promise to keep it safe… to keep _you_ safe… I love you, Bill.”

 

“I love you too, Dipper Pines… More than I think healthy for someone like me… but I cannot stop myself from falling ever deeper.” And the statement was nearly fatalistic, with more than a bit of fear behind it, but Bill smiled nonetheless. There was no use denying it now, he was in love with Dipper Pines and there was no stopping that.

 

Perhaps the most obvious indicator of just how long the two had been dancing around each other and slipping into something more than platonic was how easy it was to fall into a couple’s routine around Bill’s apartment.  A kiss pressed to Dipper’s lips or cheek while the author typed away as Bill went about his usual regimen of stretches and warmups, an arm draped around the dancer’s waist as he cooked, Dipper’s head atop Bill’s.

 

As they would ever be, their hours of simple domestic bliss were interrupted as Bill switched his playlist to the usual warm up mix, his moves turning into something more slinking and sensual, Cipher’s facade slowly falling into place. Dipper could see a bit of Bill behind it all, though, now that he knew what to look for. The complete transition didn’t happen until Bill left him at the door, pulling him down by his collar for a final kiss with a whispered promise that he’d be home by midnight.

 

Dipper was left staring, breathless, as Cipher shouldered his bag and waltzed down the hall, a sway to his hips and a striking confidence in his stride.

 

By some miracle of heaven, the angel who left him each evening had decided Dipper was worthy of his presence, of his affections, and the writer could not thank enough stars.

* * *

 

Sitting in front of his mirror, Cipher was the first dancer in the studio. He’d left a bit earlier than usual, in part because he knew he would not want to leave home if he stayed much longer, and in part because he had a decision to make and hadn’t wanted Dipper to see the results, if there were any. Gold eyes trailed over his own torso in the mirror, flickering up to the mirror behind him to factor in his back as well.

 

Never in all of his life had Cipher gone on stage with the marks of a prior tryst visible.

 

His mouth pressed thin for a moment, remembering the last time he’d seen such marks on his skin at all. Erik always had been fond of marking his territory, bruises so deep they were nearly black, fingers etched into his hips and teeth indented in his shoulder. But the older man had been very clear on how those marks were to be treated. Concealer became Cipher’s best friend, a thick layer over each mark to ensure it was entirely invisible to the crowd.

 

Those marks were to remind Cipher who he belonged to, not to warn off the men and women who watched him dance and dreamed of owning him.

 

Sighing, Cipher reached for the tube of concealer, ready to begin that old process again. It wouldn’t do to lose his appeal for the sake of personal pleasures… even if, for once, he wanted to flaunt those marks. He wanted the audience to see them, to know that he was spoken for. To know that they could shout their vulgarities and propositions all they wanted, but he need not speak an answer.

 

Slowly, the dancer put the makeup down, turning his head from side to side to examine the mark on his neck. It was partially visible out from under his collar, not nearly as stark as the lighter bruises scattered around his torso, or the parallel red scratches down his back, but it was also the darkest mark and the most tender.

 

It wasn’t a bad look, really. The dancer looked debauched, even with his hair carefully parted over one eye, hair falling in elegant waves. The ethereal, untouchable image was still there in the set of Cipher’s mouth and the cool confidence of his gaze, but it was held in harsh juxtaposition now with the clear vestiges of the night prior, physical proof that the demigod had been touched by human hands.

 

Letting his trademark smirk fall into place, Cipher made his decision. He would dance with the marks tonight, he would dance as a man spoken for, as a man not possessed but content and equal to another.

 

The thought in and of itself was quite freeing, a weight lifted from his shoulders.

 

One by one, the other dancers trickled in as Cipher brushed the glitter onto his skin in more intricate swirls than usual, calling attention to the marks on his skin rather than trying to conceal them.

 

Jet gave him a wave and a smile, eyebrow raised at the marks, but  no comment save a singular thumbs up before the younger man set about applying his own makeup.

 

Lissi was more than a bit more intrigued, coming to sit right beside him and looking at the visible hickeys with a grin on her face, _“Someone_ got lucky last night, didn’t he? And had a fun time with it too, by the looks of it.”

 

Reaching across the space between them, Cipher shoved at her shoulder with a laugh, head tossed back with a grin, “Someone did indeed. And you’re looking right at him.”

 

“That good, huh?” The young woman’s face was a teasing sort of skeptical, but there was a bright light in her eyes, all of her teasing in good nature.

 

Letting out a soft, rehearsed moan, Cipher let his eyes slip closed, fingers reaching up to touch the mark on his neck, “The best I’ve ever had.”

 

“Yo, man, too much info. We get it, your boy’s got game. Don’t rub it in,” Chance’s voice rang from the doorway as he tossed his bag onto his own table and sat down, getting ready with a smug grin on his face. “And don’t forget, you owe me dinner for this, Cipher. I pointed him out, after all.”

 

“You’re just _jealous,_ you _wish_ you had someone as good as him,” and Cipher was teasing too, turning in his chair to stick his tongue out at the taller dancer, a childish and playful gesture. With a roll of his eyes, the blond ceded to Chance’s point, shrugging, “Tell me what you like, man. I’ll bring it for you next time.”

 

Chance’s fist hit the air as he shouted in victory amidst Jet and Lissi’s complaints and pleas that Cipher bring enough for all of them, on threat of stealing the other man’s food, and Cipher turned back to his makeup with a laugh, heart light in his chest.

 

Once again, the door to the dressing room opened and closed and while the horseplay continued, Lissi and Chance both stole glances over to Blaine who was standing in the doorway. The dark haired dancer’s eyes were trained on Cipher, and specifically, on the red scratches down his spine, on the bruise just peeking out from under his collar.

 

Cipher himself seemed content to ignore the possessive dancer, setting about fixing a few minor kinks in his hair, brushing the locks over his eye again and spraying in the gold glitter, but both Lissi and Chance followed Blaine with their eyes, ready to pull the two apart if anything happened.

 

The explanation they’d received from Cipher was minimal, but they knew enough to be wary of a potential confrontation.

 

“Fuckin’ _Christ,_ Cipher, you look like you’ve been through hell,” Blaine walked up behind the blond dancer, an expression bordering on concern on his face. It would have been sweet, were it not for the undertone of jealousy, “What the fuck did that kid  _do_  to you?”

 

For a mere fraction of a second, Cipher’s mouth twisted in a grimace, an ashy taste in his mouth, but then he let his lips stretch into a serene smile, eyes closed as he recalled the night prior, “Something you never could, Phoenix. He made me see _stars._ Arched back in his arms as I _screamed_ his name, my vision failing me.”

 

And it had the intended effect, the concerned frown instantly replaced by dark, malicious rage as Blaine’s fingers grasped the edge of Cipher’s chair, digging into the fabric before he threw himself away from the blond and stalked over to his own makeup station, applying his eyeliner with harsh movements.

 

The smugness around Cipher could have been cut with a knife and Lissi threw him a conspiratorial smirk as he put the final touches on his makeup.

 

He had never felt more powerful in his life.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so proud of my son tbh


	15. Loving is Knowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeing Bill smile put a warmth in his chest, and knowing how to make those smiles appear is what Dipper lived for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is really really late real life is kicking my ass

While Dipper would have liked to spend every waking moment- and sleeping too- in Bill’s apartment or in the dancer’s presence, necessity did decree that he spend a fair time in his own abode across the hall. Oftentimes this separation took place when Bill slipped on his sneakers and made his way to the gym or the dance studio, places he needed concentration rather than company, and told Dipper he’d text the writer when he returned.

 

Today, Bill’s goodbye kiss had come with a sheet of paper slipped to him, elegantly written in Bill’s looping scrawl.

 

“Think you can handle grocery shopping without me? There’s a move I really need to perfect before tomorrow and I don’t have time to stop by the store on the way home,” Gold eyes looked up at him with playful mischief, a small smile on his face.

 

Snatching up the list, Dipper ruffled Bill’s hair playfully before letting his hand trail down to cup Bill’s cheek, pulling the blond up for another kiss, “I think I can handle it, Bill. I did live on my own for three years while finishing up my master’s, you know. Or well, with my roommates. But we all bought our own groceries and we managed.”

 

The expression on Bill’s face was one of scathing skepticism, one eyebrow raised up at his boyfriend as he scoffed, “You were living off of microwave dinners and instant mashed potatoes, Pine Tree. You’re _helpless.”_

 

For a moment, Dipper was almost offended, though he knew he had no real defense against the petite dancer. He’d eaten better food since meeting Bill than he’d had since before graduate school, and perhaps even earlier than that. Even so, he rolled his eyes, pressing his lips to Bill’s cheek with a sigh, “Nonetheless, I _can_ read and I _do_ know what sort of things you prefer. I _have_ looked in the cabinets more than once, after all.”

 

“Yes, and _rearranged_ them all _several times,_ regrettably. Just stick to the list, or add a couple of things you want, so long as you don’t forget anything. I do need all of that for the next few nights’ dinners, and I _really_ don’t want to make a second trip to the store,” The teasing tone to Bill’s voice was coupled with his hands reaching up to twine around Dipper’s neck, leaning heavily on the taller man.

 

With a laugh, Dipper wrapped his arms around Bill’s waist and pulled him close for a moment, nearly lifting the dancer off the floor as he looked down into Bill’s eyes, “Really, Bill. I’ve got this. Go learn your routine, you’ll come home to the pantry fully stocked, on my honour.”

 

“I better, or it’ll be your _life,_ Pine Tree,” the threat in the tone was joking, but it came with a glare nonetheless, which Dipper couldn’t help but grin at and lean down, pressing their noses together for a moment just to watch that glare melt into a scrunched face and a laugh.

 

Bill was terribly easy to catch, sometimes.

 

Pushing at Dipper’s chest, the dancer slid out of the writer’s hands, picking up his bag and shouldering it, a smile still on his face as he tossed Dipper a wave, taking off for the studio with a spring in his step.

 

Dipper stared after Bill for longer than necessary, a warmth blossoming in his chest. Some days it really struck him, just how much he _loved_ the dancer, just how dear Bill was to him. And it felt good to bask in that love and know it was returned.

 

When the dancer was long gone, Dipper finally returned his attention to the list in his hand, reading it over with a smile. He could guess at what Bill had planned for dinner, but he was almost certain the dancer would surprise him somehow, even if he did know all of the ingredients.

 

He stopped in his own apartment to grab his car keys and the spare key Bill had given him shortly after they’d started dating before heading over to the grocery store, whistling with his steps from the car to the door.

 

There was something oddly exciting about such a simple, domestic task. Perhaps it stemmed from just who he was doing it for, or maybe the fact that he’d be getting a stellar meal out of it, certainly, but no matter the reason, Dipper had a grin on his face as he entered the market.

 

That good mood persisted as Dipper made his way through the store, carefully picking the brands he’d seen in Bill’s cabinets and pantry. The last thing he needed was the blond hissing at him for buying something different and sending him back to the store later.

 

Not for the first time, Dipper was amazed by just how particular Bill was about his foods, but he supposed it came with the territory when someone loved cooking as much as Bill Cipher did. Only the best of the best for his creations.

 

It was more than a little endearing, really.

 

He was almost finished with Bill’s list, crouching down to pick up a bag of flour when he felt eyes on his back, someone too close behind him. Slowly, Dipper rose and put the flour in his shopping cart before turning to meet bright green eyes, narrowed above thin lips pursed in a sneer.

 

“Well, if it isn’t the _ordinary boy._ Shopping, what an _exciting_ task. What, couldn’t get Cipher to come out with you? I bet he’s _embarrassed_ to be with you in _public._ I know _I_ would be,” Blaine’s tone was scathing, laced with a mixture of jealousy and disgust as he spat his words up to Dipper, mouth twisting around them like bitter gall.

 

Anger flared in the pit of Dipper’s stomach. Anger at Blaine for what he’d done to Bill, for the fact that Blaine still couldn’t see the person behind Cipher’s facade, and for having the utter lack of tact to come after him in the grocery store of all places. Barely containing his own anger, Dipper gave Blaine a tight-lipped, polite smile, “Grocery shopping, yes. Bill needed a few things to cook dinner for us tonight, and he’s got an important routine to rehearse. He asked me to do his shopping for him and I was happy to oblige. It’s the least I could do, as his _boyfriend.”_

 

The final word was spoken with a valiant sort of pride and a swelling in Dipper’s chest. It was something only he could say, something Blaine couldn’t contest, something Blaine would never have, not with Bill at least.

 

And it earned him an even darker glare from the dark haired dancer, Blaine advancing toward him and leaning up so that they saw eye to eye, his voice dropping into a lower tone, “Count your blessings for the moment, _little boy,_ but he’ll toss you aside in the end. He _always_ does. Cipher doesn’t _do_ relationships. If you’d known him for as long as _I_ have, you’d know that. But you know _nothing about him.”_

 

Bile rose up in Dipper’s throat and he had to hold himself back from pushing Blaine away from him, or grabbing the dancer by the collar and tossing him aside. He knew better than to give the dancer any fuel, and a grocery store was no place to get in a fight. Bill would think poorly of him if he ended up getting arrested instead of coming home with groceries.

 

The knowledge that he was going home to Bill helped to steel him and calm him a bit as Dipper took a breath, giving a biting smile this time, a malicious edge to it, “You want to play ‘who knows more’, Blaine? Tell me, what’s Bill’s favourite food? What song does he listen to first when he gets home and needs to calm down? What does he like in his tea?”

 

Each question through Blaine for a loop, the dancer visibly confused and affronted by them and he scoffed again, “Why does any of that matter? Little details, who _cares?”_

_“Bill_ cares, you _imbecile,_ and that’s why you don’t stand a _chance_ with him. Because you _still_ can’t see the man behind the mask, and there’s _far more_ to Bill than just Cipher,” Shouldering past Blaine, Dipper took hold of his cart and rolled his eyes darkly, “Now, if you excuse me, I have someone to be getting home to.”

 

Not wanting to be entirely bested, the dancer called after Dipper with malice, “I bet you don’t even _know_ those things. You were just hoping _I’d_ tell you so you could _impress him.”_

 

Pausing, Dipper held a hand up, counting off the questions on his fingers with swift answers, “Bill’s got a sweet tooth, with a special fondness for chocolate dipped strawberries, he listens to a violin cover of “Kiss the Rain” by Yiruma, and he takes two teaspoons or two sugar cubes in his tea, always hot, never iced. Good afternoon, Blaine.”

 

With that, Dipper took his cart and left, Blaine seething behind him, hands clenched into fists and mouth pressed into a thin line.

 

The dark mood that came with Blaine’s little tirade settled over Dipper as he checked out and headed back to the apartment complex, a minute frown on his face. Despite himself, he let Blaine’s words eat at him. There really was a lot about Bill that he didn’t know, years upon years of Bill’s life that Dipper hadn’t even begun to learn about, and he wasn’t sure he ever would.

 

It had been obvious from the start that Bill had secrets to keep, after all. And it certainly wasn’t Dipper’s place to intrude on that. If Bill wanted to tell him, he would, and if not, Dipper should be contented with what he knew as it was.

 

That thought did a bit to quiet Blaine’s hateful marks and soothe the little wounds they’d opened. He could content himself with what he had, what he had with Bill was more than he deserved and wanting any more was just selfish.

 

And he really shouldn’t be letting Blaine of all people get to him. The man was clearly obsessed with Bill- or with Cipher, anyway.

 

Sighing, he tried to shake the thoughts from his head as he gathered up the groceries from the car, intent on putting them all away in Bill’s cabinets before the dancer arrived home, a pleasant surprise.

 

...Which, naturally, did not occur. The jazz music filtering from behind Bill’s door was proof enough that the dancer had returned home early and Dipper shook his head with half-rueful amusement. Trust Bill to ruin his plan to surprise him. But he couldn’t be upset for long, already smiling as he rested the groceries on his hip to unlock Bill’s door, happy at the promise of seeing the dancer.

 

" _Welcome,_ Pine Tree. I trust you brought me what I needed?” Gold eyes alighted on the groceries and he smiled, taking the bags from Dipper and setting about putting everything away in its designated place, save for the ingredients he needed for tonight’s meal.

 

Settling in the doorframe, Dipper smiled and nodded before raising an eyebrow, gesturing to Bill, “I was gonna do that for you, but you got home early. Everything go alright?”

  
  


Bill nodded, already settling into the task of making dinner with a smile, “Yeah, nice and smooth. Blaine never showed, so Jet said he’d teach him his part. If he can’t learn it by tomorrow, he won’t be in the performance, we worked around him just fine today and it’s his fault for missing rehearsal.” The dancer was unapologetic and unforgiving and Dipper was almost certain he detected a hint of spite in Bill’s tone and in the smirk touching his boyfriend’s lips.

 

The dancer would shed no tears if Blaine was cut from his show. And that little blow to the other man was enough to quiet the worst of Dipper’s screaming anxieties and soothe them.

 

Not wanting to break Bill’s good mood with news of his confrontation, Dipper simply wandered over to wrap his arms around Bill, tugging at his waist and turning the blond to face him. No reason to worry Bill with mention of Blaine, not when Bill was swaying comfortably in his arms, a smile on his face.

 

It wasn’t as if the other dancer posed any real threat, after all.

 

“I forgot to mention, I added a couple of items to your list.”

 

Hands coming up to settle on Dipper’s shoulders, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck, Bill looked up with mild curiosity, “Oh? And what might _those_ be?”

 

One of his hands fell from Bill’s waist to open his book bag, still slung across his torso and resting on his hips. He pulled out the items one at a time, setting them on the counter. A bag of each sort of chocolate chips, ideal for melting, and a pound of strawberries.

 

Dipper was already grinning as he watched Bill’s eyes focus on the promising sweets, Bill’s tongue flicking out to lick his lips before the dancer turned back to him, a mixture of adoration and hunger in his eyes.

 

Bill twined his hands into Dipper’s hair, pulling the writer down to him even as he leant up on his tiptoes, whispering against Dipper’s lips, “You’re _perfect,_ Dipper Pines. I love you so much… I _might_ just share those with you once I’ve made them…”

 

“Mmm, no, I’m _far_ from perfect, Bill. I just like to see that smile on your face. And I knew you’d been craving these, though you’d _never_ mention it,” Dipper was smiling, their breaths mixing in the slight space between them, mere centimetres at most.

 

“You know me so well, Pine Tree… Better than I know myself, I think.” And Bill leant up to close the rest of the distance with a kiss, not giving Dipper a chance to reply. But perhaps he didn’t need a reply, perhaps he just needed to hear that if the swelling in his chest was any indication.

 

Maybe he didn’t know all of Bill’s secrets, or why he stared off sadly into the distance from time to time, but he did know how to make Bill happy, and in the end, that was all that mattered.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ a trail of red glitter on the floor ]


	16. Mirror Images

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting the family is always a nervous experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took me a while, midterms kicked my ass.

Rarely if ever was Bill awake before ten, the dancer preferring to be awoken by the rays of sun across his face than by any alarm or arranged time of morning. Dipper was more used to waking up to Bill’s face smooth in sleep than anything else, and the dancer was often impossible to rouse if he did not wish to awaken.

 

But today, when Dipper awoke, not only was Bill out of bed, the blond was nowhere in sight.

 

Sitting up, Dipper looked around with confusion and more than a touch of concern. He knew that Bill wouldn’t just up and leave, but some part of him was still worried, worried that Bill had fallen into one of his occasional melancholies alone, worried that the dancer would disappear, worried that this was all, somehow, a dream.

 

With a crack of his neck, Dipper rolled out of bed and stretched, looking around and catching sight of Bill’s sneakers on the floor. The dancer couldn’t have gone far, then, if he hadn’t taken his shoes. A wave of relief washed over him and he picked up his phone from the nightstand, checking the time.

 

“Nine am?” He muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair and checking it in the mirror, snorting at the odd angles it stuck out at. He’d certainly need a shower once he got to the bottom of this early rising.

 

Wandering out into the sitting room, Dipper leant against the doorjamb in the hall, watching as Bill flitted around, moving cushions and placing books back on their shelves, humming to himself as the soft jazz the dancer he preferred for cleaning rang out through the house.

 

The blond turned on his heel, catching Dipper’s eye with a small smile as he finished fixing the couch cushions. For a moment, something like anxiety glinted in golden eyes but it was quickly extinguished as Bill flounced over, leaning up as high as he could on his tip toes to press a kiss to the bottom of Dipper’s jaw, a smile on his face.

 

“Morning, Pine Tree. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

 

Not willing to end the contact there, Dipper leant down, pressing a kiss to Bill’s nose with a chuckle, shaking his head, “No, though you not being there when I woke up gave me a bit of a scare. Thought you’d finally realised I wasn’t worth your time and run off.”

 

Now it was Bill’s turn to shake his head, though it was with a darker sort of incredulity, a chuckle that was only half humourous, “You’ve got it all wrong, Dipper. _You’re_ too good for me. It’s the other way around, one of these days you’ll see what I do and you’ll wonder why you’re here at all.”

 

Even Bill seemed surprised by his words, turning his head away and biting his lip before forcing a smile, shrugging off the statements as if they were nothing, “Nevermind that. Sorry for not leaving a note, Pine Tree. I’ll be sure to next time. Now, pancakes sound good for breakfast?”

 

“Are you- yeah, Bill. Pancakes are great, especially yours, you know that,” Dipper smiled too and Bill’s grin gained a bit more sincerity, the dancer leaning up for one last kiss pressed to his cheek before he was off, pulling ingredients out of the cabinets and whistling to himself as if nothing was wrong. But Dipper wasn’t so easily swayed, brown eyes following Bill with concern.

 

Did the dancer think like that all the time? Or had he simply been joking?

 

Dipper took his usual seat at the table, picking up the cookbook Bill had left open there and noticing the familiar recipe, blueberry cinnamon pancakes. Mouth already watering, Dipper pushed his concerns aside for the moment in favour of anticipation for breakfast. The recipe was amongst his favourites, and Bill knew it.

 

Before long, the scent of pancake batter wafted over from the kitchen and Dipper’s stomach made itself known despite the early hour. Breakfast at a decent time, the world really was on it’s head today, and that thought was amusing enough to have the author laughing, a soft chuckle to himself under his breath.

 

Bill’s spirits seemed to be back up to normal as he leant out of the kitchen, eyebrow raised, “Got a joke you’d like to share with the class, Pine Tree?”

 

“Just the fact that nine am is a perfectly reasonable time to be eating breakfast and here I am thinking it’s ludicrous to be up this early. My sister would be appalled at the sleeping schedule I’ve picked up since grad school,” A flash of a smile came as the dancer rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders, taking the plate of pancakes from the counter and setting them in front of Dipper.

 

“Normal sleep schedules are for squares, Dipper. Night time’s where the fun’s at!” Setting pancakes on a plate for himself, he dusted powdered sugar and cinnamon over the top before bringing them over and taking his own seat at the table, fork already in hand.

 

The author couldn’t exactly deny Bill’s statement, his life was much more exciting now that he stayed up late into the night, both because it meant more time with his boyfriend and because for whatever reason, the latest hours of the night were the most productive. His novel was coming together in large pieces now, chapters finished, albeit out of order and with a great deal missing in between, but there was no concern of writer’s block.

 

Knowing that Bill eagerly awaited the book’s completion was more than enough inspiration.

 

Digging into his pancakes, Dipper took the first bite with his mouth open, eyes rolling back as a soft moan escaped his lips. First time, second time, Dipper was certain they would still be just as delicious the four hundredth time, if he got to taste them so many times. Somewhere in his mind, he noted that, should he ever be put to death, he wanted Bill to cook his last meal. He didn’t even care what it was, so long as Bill cooked it, it would be perfect.

 

Something told him Bill wouldn’t be too keen on cooking a meal for him on death row though, so perhaps that wasn’t the best train of thought.

 

Opening his eyes again to take a second bite, Dipper saw that Bill was watching him, that same spark of nervousness that he’d caught sight of this morning in the dancer’s eyes again, but this time it didn’t hide behind a smile. The dancer took a slow bite of his own breakfast before biting his lip and placing his fork down.

 

“Dipper, it’s… really last minute and I’m sorry, but… do you have any plans tonight?” The nervousness was even more clear in Bill’s voice and in how his hands were twisted together, gold eyes focused on the table rather than on Dipper.

 

Blinking, Dipper snorted and shook his head, “A real important date with my laptop and a cup of tea, not sure I can cancel. Of course I don’t have plans, it’s your night off. Why do you ask?”

 

The humour was enough to take the edge off of Bill’s anxiety and the dancer smiled, shaking his head with minute indulgence, “I can never be sure, you might have plans. And… well… Will texted me this morning and said he’d be down on this side of town… So I told him we could do dinner and I kind of… insinuated that you would be there too…”

 

Dinner with Will? Was that what Bill was so worried about?

 

“I’d love to have dinner with your brother, Bill. It’s about time I met the other half of your menacing duo,” and while Dipper was certainly nervous, he wasn’t about to let Bill think he was anything less than excited for this. He knew just how important Will was to the dancer, after all. “And, before you even _think_ to mention cooking, I’m going to make reservations at that steakhouse down the street.”

 

Taken aback, Bill blinked slowly at Dipper before putting a hand out, shaking his head, “No, no, you don’t have to do that. I told him not to expect anything special, just dinner here with us. He’s looking forward to meeting you is all, you don’t have to shell out to impress him.”

 

“I’m not. I’m taking my boyfriend and his brother out to dinner because I want to, not because I _have_ to. Means you won’t have to come home and cook after you practice, and we can head right to dinner. Besides, you cook for me so often, it’s about time I get you a meal in return, right?”

 

The dancer smiled down at his pancakes and shrugged, “You help pay for groceries, it’s not like I just throw food at you or something. Really, I can cook it’s no trou-”

 

Picking up his napkin, Dipper tossed it at Bill’s face to interrupt him, the fabric hitting Bill square in the face and earning him an undignified squawk before Bill threw the napkin back, face judgmental.

 

“I’m taking you and Will out for dinner. I really want to, just let me do this for you.”

 

With a sigh, Bill shrugged his shoulders, nodding, “Fine, fine. If you really want to, we can go out for dinner. Does take a bit of weight off my shoulders, I guess.”

 

Dipper smiled and took another bite of his breakfast, balance restored, “That’s all I want.”

 

For a good long while after that, the only sounds were the scraping of metal against ceramic and the soft music that filtered in the background, smiles on both of their faces.

 

While Bill didn’t have to dance tonight, Lissi had asked the night prior if he could come in and run through her routine with her and the dancer had agreed readily. He liked his de facto job as dance captain and was more than happy to come in on his days off if someone asked.

 

Usually, Dipper stayed in Bill’s apartment to work on pieces of his novel during the blond’s workouts or routine practices, but he took his leave when Bill did, heading across the hall to sort through his closet. Bill had told him he didn’t need to impress Will, but that didn’t mean Dipper wasn’t going to at least try to look presentable, and that meant more formal clothes than anything in his drawer back at Bill’s.

 

On the plus side, he had approximately four hours to decide on what to wear, as the reservations were for six pm and Will wouldn’t be around until five at the earliest. Staring at the few nice button downs he owned, Dipper finally let the anxiety of the coming evening settle in.

 

Will was so _important_ to Bill… what would happen if the other twin didn’t approve of him?

 

The question lingered in his mind as he flipped through shirts, buttoning and unbuttoning them, dissatisfied with each outfit.

 

At least six combinations of shirt and tie- with long breaks to talk himself up in between- later and Dipper was the closest as he would be to content with his outfit before the allotted time ran out. He’d heard Bill come home about an hour ago, the dancer clearly excited for the evening if the upbeat humming was any indicator, and a glance at the clock told him that if Will wasn’t already here, he would be soon.

 

Fixing his tie in the mirror, Dipper ran a hand through his hair, trying to get the loose locks at the back to cooperate and lay flat, but despite his efforts, they flipped back up messily and he sighed despondently. It was hopeless, trying to look nice for something like this. He’d discovered that back in high school, he didn’t know why he was expecting it to be any different now.

 

At half past five, Dipper couldn’t delay any further and he took one final check in the mirror before grabbing a coat and his wallet and keys before walking across the hall. He took a deep breath to steady himself before knocking thrice on Bill’s door, more nervous than he’d felt in weeks.

 

The door swung open and Dipper found himself face to face with someone who was most certainly _not_ Bill, though from a distance, he might have been fooled. Will’s eyes were a pale blue in contrast to Bill’s liquid gold, his hair and skin fairer, but the face shapes were nearly identical, though Will had a bit more roundness to his, a softer quality.

 

“Well, are you going to come in or stare at me all day? I know I’m _radiant,_ but you _are_ dating my brother, so it _really_ wouldn’t be appropriate,” the smirk on Will’s face was familiar too and Dipper couldn’t deny the family resemblance.

 

Twins indeed.

 

Sliding in past the younger twin, Dipper held out a hand, a nervous smile on his face, “H-Hi, sorry. I’m Dipper, it’s.. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

“Will Cipher, and the pleasure’s mine. I’ve heard _lots_ about you,” Will’s hand was small and cool and soft in his own, lacking the callouses that Dipper was so familiar with from Bill’s fingers. “All good, at least recently.”

 

It was obvious that the slim doctor was playing with him, but Dipper fell right into it, blushing and sputtering and trying to find words to explain himself as a pair of hands wrapped around his waist, a head resting on his shoulder.

 

“I leave the room for five minutes and you’re already harassing him, Will? And here I thought _you_ were the _good twin,”_ the dancer’s voice absolutely _dripped_ with mischievous humour and broke the anxious mood, all three of them laughing in unison as Bill draped himself across Dipper’s side, one arm still around the taller man’s waist, “Since it seems you two managed introductions all on your own, shall we be off?”

 

“Please, I’m _starved,_  and I can’t imagine someone as tall as Dipper here can go long between meals. _Especially_ not if you’re keeping him _busy,_ brother,” Will’s wink was beyond teasing and Dipper’s face flushed deep red as Bill leant over to smack his brother on the shoulder chidingly.

 

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know.”

 

“As if I _don’t,_ Bill.” To prove his point, Will leant over and pressed his fingers to a fading bruise on Bill’s neck, just visible under the collar of his shirt and now it was the dancer’s turn to flush, Will’s mouth open in a gleeful laugh, “Can’t hide anything from me, you should know that by now.”

  
  


Any anxieties Dipper felt were quieted by the brothers’ banter, Bill and Will throwing friendly insults back and forth the entire way to the restaurant, grins on their faces. If nothing else, this was obviously making Bill happy, and that was all that mattered.

 

Dinner conversation was simple, Bill was happy to let Will talk about his coworkers and persnickety patients- the word came up several times, Dipper wasn’t sure anyone else used it, but Will was certainly fond of it- and the coffee shop worker Will had eyes for. Occasionally, conversation shifted toward him, the younger twin curious about his books and about his family, watching him with careful blue eyes.

 

Even in the easy atmosphere, Dipper could tell he was being tested.

 

The walk back to Bill’s apartment was quieter than the first, Bill’s fingers laced with his own as the sun set behind the trio. They stopped outside of Bill’s door, the twins pulling each other into a tight hug, Bill ruffling Will’s hair.

 

“Thanks for coming down to see me. Been missing ya, little brother.”

 

 _“You’re_ due for a visit with me, Bill. Come up to the office sometime, would you?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Bill nodded with a shrug of his shoulders, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll let you poke and prod at me sometime. But not until you get that barista’s number, alright? I want to treat a boyfriend of yours to dinner sometime.” Laughing at that, the dancer opened his door and stepped inside.

 

Dipper went to follow, but Will reached out and grabbed his wrist, a small smile on his face, “Can I have a word, Dipper?”

 

Terror struck and Dipper felt his mouth go dry, but he nodded, a concerned smile on his face, “O-of course… What is it?”

 

“From what I can see, you’re a good person. They’re few and far between, especially in my brother’s line of work, so thank you,” Dipper smiled, ready to wave off Will’s thanks before the younger twin’s voice turned cold, the cordial smile laced with ice, “But know this- I’ve seen nice men turn on the drop of a dime, and if you hurt Bill, you will live to regret it.”

 

Nodding, Dipper gulped down a breath with worry, “I- I won’t. Promise. I love him, he… he means the world to me. I couldn’t hurt him.”

 

The ice in Will’s expression melted nearly instantly, that same bright smile colouring his features again, “I’m glad. Take good care of him, Dipper Pines. I’m entrusting him to your hands.”

 

And with that, the younger twin was on his way, turning on his heel in a motion reminiscent of his brother’s own gait, leaving Dipper staring after him for a moment, shaken.

 

“Going to stand outside all night? Starting to worry you might be leaving me for my brother, Pine Tree.”

 

Smiling, Dipper turned and walked into the apartment, closing the door behind him, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on the plus side, i'll be finishing this fic up this week ( because november is dedicated to another fic I'm starting on Sunday ) and so you'll be getting a chapter a day so there's that!!!!
> 
> also. 
> 
> i might post a couple of the in-between sin scenes that aren't plot relevant enough to get their own chapters on tumblr, because there's some interesting character development there. if i do, i'll link them~


	17. Irony in Agony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A suggestion throws light on terrible fears Bill hadn't even realised he harboured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second of five of the week of updates to end off the fic~ 
> 
> slight trigger warning for self-loathing and poor self-talk

The skin of his hands was blistered tonight, a sigh escaping Cipher’s lips as he took hold of the gauze bandaging in the drawer of his dressing table. Years of dancing and new routines still left his skin rough, he was not sure how blisters could even form at this point.

 

At least he’d gotten beyond the early years, losing his hold and falling from the pole more than once, skin split and hands bleeding. The pain barely got to him now, he only wrapped his wounds to prevent infection.

 

Humming under his breath, he wrapped the gauze around his fingers, a thin, tight layer of bandages protecting the wounds. Lissi called out to him from the door and he waved off her concern with a smile.

 

“I’ve had worse, sweet. They’ll be healed up by tomorrow evening, don’t you worry about me.” Bill wiggled his bandaged fingers at her, a mischievous grin on his lips, “And besides, I’m off. Don’t need these fingers for much else.”

 

Lissi’s laugh rang out in the dressing room and she rolled her eyes at the blond dancer, shaking his head, “I’d like to see you cook without them, Cipher. I guess it’s a good thing I’m stealing your stage tomorrow, hmm?”

 

“It’s all yours, dear. Now, get going. One of us needs to get to bed early and it _certainly_ won’t be me. Have a safe walk home.”

 

Bowing out, she winked and waved, blowing him a cheeky kiss, “The same to you, Cipher. And give that tall boy of yours my best regards.”

 

It was amidst laughter that she left, the dressing room empty save Bill who set about packing his things away, bag slung over his shoulder. As he made his way out into the hallway, a hand caught him by the wrist, tight to his pulse.

 

“Cipher, may I have a word?”

 

A cold pit dropped in the dancer’s stomach, his mouth turning down in a grimace as he turned on his heel, pulling his wrist free of the other man’s grip, facade up once again, “That depends on what that word may be, Phoenix.”

 

Stepping out of the shadow, the dark haired dancer leant against the door jamb, crossing one leg over the other and his arms across his chest, the t-shirt tugging tight across his shoulders. Blaine’s face lacked the jealous rage it had housed of late, and thus Cipher remained, awaiting the other’s words.

 

“I… mean merely to warn you, to tell you that I’m concerned, Cipher. We’re friends, aren’t we? And friends can be concerned, can’t they?”

 

Brow furrowed, Cipher rolled his eyes with a scoff, “Friends, are we now? A fine friend you have been these past few months, or were we only friends when _benefits_ were involved, _Phoenix?”_

 

The acidic tone to Cipher’s voice had Blaine leaning back, hands held up in front of him in a show of surrender, “Alright, you’re right. I’ve been a bad friend lately, and you’re right, I’ve been jealous. But that doesn’t change the fact that I do care about you, and worry.”

 

Though the blond had little care to listen now, he breathed out in a huff, waving his hand. Perhaps hearing these concerns would heal the wound between them a bit, Cipher did so hate the tension in the dressing room these days, would much rather have the atmosphere calm. He did view the dancers as an extension of his family, after all, the studio his home, and he’d like to see it returned to its old peace.

 

“Well, what is there to worry about, Blaine? Clearly something’s bothering you, spit it out.”

 

Blaine’s mouth was turned down into a frown and he looked away for a moment, “Your… your boyfriend. He never comes by here. Not when you’re working, anyway. I… I know he… _loves you_ but… does he love… _you?_ He talks big about how he knows Bill and how he cares about Bill… but I don’t think he knows Cipher. And… Cipher’s you too, isn’t he?”

 

The words came slowly and with venom, a barely contained jealousy overlaying what seemed to be honest concern, green eyes slowly flickering up from the ground to meet gold.

 

Cipher scoffed again, reaching across the distance between them to shove at Blaine’s shoulder playfully, the first casual touch they’d shared in months, “He knows me better than that, Blaine. I appreciate your concern, but he _met me_ as Cipher, I doubt he could forget that. I’m all one person, he can’t love one part without the other, and I’m sure he knows that.”

 

The other man’s expression spoke otherwise, but he didn’t seem to want a fight, simply shrugging and sighing, “Just looking out for you, Cipher. Since you’re always looking out for everyone else.”

 

“Thanks, but I’ve got myself covered. Don’t worry about it, everything’s fine.”

 

Turning to leave again, Cipher put up a hand in a wave, leaving Blaine behind in the hallway as he made his way out. For a moment, his mask flickered, actual fear evident in his eyes before he covered it behind that same contented, confident facade.

 

It was the jealousy talking, certainly. Dipper would _never_ think like that, would never separate Bill from Cipher… and yet, the dancer could see the signs.

 

Dipper was careful with him while he warmed up, didn’t touch him as casually as he did during the day, didn’t lean into his kisses when Bill left for work like he usually did. He knew by now which setting Bill’s cool down playlist was and had it already going by the time Cipher put his bag down, the music washing over them and coaxing him down from his post show high. It was only once Bill curled up on the couch, exhausted and at peace, that Dipper’s arms came to wrap around him, the writer’s laptop finally closed and put away.

 

Could Dipper really dislike Cipher, deep down?

 

It was an old self-consciousness that was pooling in Bill’s stomach as he went through his cool down stretches, the writer typing away in the background. A self-consciousness born of his first few years dancing, of the hateful remarks of his parents and their friends, the months he spent hiding his work out of pride and embarrassment. The sense, the reminder, that Cipher was a lesser person, that once he put on that facade he was _dirty,_ he was _worthless,_ an object to be admired and jeered at, but not cared for.

 

For the first night since they’d started dating, Bill stared at the all, awake for hours after Dipper had fallen asleep, unable to quiet his thoughts and his anxieties. His sleep that night, what little he got, was fitful, and he woke with shadows under his eyes.

 

There was only one way to test it, he supposed. And god, did he dread the prospect.

 

Resigned to his fate, Bill rose from bed with a sigh, cracking his neck and shoulders with a soft noise, something Dipper had once compared to a kitten’s mewl before getting smacked in the face. The memory brought a fond smile to his face, something to lay over the anxiety in his stomach and mask it.

 

After all, he could simply be overreacting, couldn’t he?

 

For experiment’s sake, Bill switched his playlist that evening, employing the harder mix, the songs that jazzed him up quickly and threw him into character. It was usually reserved for low days, days when he couldn’t psych himself up, but this was a special occasion. And the tension that came into Dipper’s posture when the first song began was the first part of Bill’s answer, the added weight to the darkness in his heart.

 

At least this music could draw his attention away from the worry, the near-panic that was beginning to settle in. Cipher’s playlist could distract him from anything, in fact, it was designed with just that in mind. Once the facade came up, he was safe behind it. Nothing really hurt Cipher, nothing bothered the dancer on his pedestal of gold, and that was what Bill needed right now. Needed in case his worst fears were proven true.

 

A few songs in and Cipher’s confidence shone in his movements, liquid and sensual. Every now and then, Dipper’s eyes flashed up and were caught in gold, gaze lingering before the writer would flush and tear his eyes away, throwing himself into his writing with greater rigour than before. Almost as if he didn’t want to be caught looking.

 

How… odd.

 

Cipher decided he’d had enough of being ignored, sauntering over to Dipper with a grin on his face and leaning over, pressing a series of kisses to his boyfriend’s face- his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth- before the writer leant away, flushed high to heaven and with a conflicted expression on his face.

 

“S-stop… Cipher, you don’t… don’t need to do that.”

 

“..Don’t… need to do what, Pine Tree?” For a moment, Cipher’s voice faltered, but he was quick to regain his composure, head tilted to the side.

 

“Y’know. Kiss me, touch me, whatever…” Dipper’s voice trailed off, the writer unable to meet the dancer’s eyes, outright avoiding looking up at Cipher’s face, and thus he missed the crash, the shattering of the facade as Cipher stepped away rapidly, backing away from the man on the couch.

 

By the time he was a safe distance away, his feet failed him and Bill fell to the floor, the last vestiges of Cipher’s confidence and calm, collected manner leaving him and being replaced with betrayal and rage, both a mask of their own for the deep, deep wound in his chest.

 

“He was _right…”_

 

The words, spoken in such a broken voice, drew Dipper’s attention and the writer was up in a second, kneeling beside Bill and reaching out for the dancer who pulled away, glaring at the writer through tear-filled eyes, “Don’t _touch me._ I’m _dirty,_ aren’t I? Because _Cipher_ is, and _I’m_ Cipher **_too!”_**

 

Anger coloured Bill’s tone, but it was pain that fueled the words, pain and incredulity, he couldn’t believe he’d let himself be so fooled, so tricked, so _played._ He couldn’t believe he’d fallen for someone who hated a large part of him.

 

His own thoughts turned from anger at Dipper to anger at himself, loathing himself for not seeing sooner, for not being more cautious, for doing a thousand things he shouldn’t have done, and mostly, for still loving Dipper, for still wishing the man’s arms were around him now to comfort him.

 

_“What?”_

 

Dipper’s voice was high pitched, confused and concerned, and sounded genuine, genuine enough to get Bill to flash him another look, catching that same lack of understanding in chocolate eyes. Did he not even realise what he’d done?

 

“We’re the _same person,_ Dipper Pines. Cipher and Bill are _one_. We’re not separate, we can’t _be_ separate, and we never _will be!”_

 

There was a distinct pause, broken only by the shallow gasps Bill was taking in place of breaths, trying to hold back his tears. Dipper’s face was twisted in confusion, slow blinks preceding his words, “I… know that, Bill. I’ve _always_ known that… why would you think otherwise?”

 

And there it was, the rage again, sparked by the innocent words, Bill’s mouth pulled back into something akin to a snarl, “You pushed Cipher away, you pushed _me_ away. Told me not to touch you. I suppose you can usually forget what I do with my nights, can’t you? Focus on your novel and pretend I’m not dancing for hundreds of people. But not while I’m dancing here, that forces you to remember that I my hands are far too _sullied_ to deserve you, doesn’t it?”

 

The dancer’s words were spat with what little venom he could muster before his voice fell into disparaging self-hatred, arms wrapping around his knees in some semblance of a hug, chin resting on his knees.

 

Understanding dawned on Dipper’s face and mixed with something akin to sympathy, a concern and a worry in the writer’s face as he slowly moved closer to Bill, “You think… that I’m disgusted by Cipher?”

 

“Well, you certainly _act like it.”_

 

The self-deprecating snort that escaped the brunet was accompanied by a shake of his head and a look of disbelief, “No.. No, not in the _slightest._ I… I just… don’t want to take advantage of you. You’re… different when you’re Cipher, and I never know if you actually want what you offer, or if it’s just a part of the facade. I worry that… if I reciprocate, I’ll be just as bad as those patrons who catcall you and treat you like a piece of meat…”

 

The argument made little sense to Bill, but something in him wanted to believe Dipper, wanted to believe that his boyfriend really didn’t dislike him, didn’t see him the way he saw himself, wasn’t disgusted by his way of life. “You… worry that you’d… take advantage?”

 

Dipper ran a hand through his hair, trying to find a way to better word it, to comfort Bill, but he nodded nonetheless, “Yeah… it’s… it’s what I’m always concerned about. I don’t ever want you to feel like I’m with you simply because you’re ungodly attractive and you dance like a demon sent from hell to tempt me. Because I love you for _so much more_ than that… And I want us to be more than that, more than just physical…”

 

Some part of Bill had to laugh at that, laugh sardonically at the irony behind it all, behind their mirrored anxieties and concerns. Bill, disgusted with himself and worried that Dipper would feel the same, Dipper, disgusted with himself and fearing that Bill would see him in a dark light.

 

How alike could they be, how well suited for each other, that even their darkest worries lined up?

 

“If I didn’t _want_ to touch you, I _wouldn’t,_ Dipper. Cipher or not, I still have a clear understanding of consent. The facade is still a person, not some sort of helpless incubus desperate to seduce anything that _moves.”_ The venom in his voice had faded some, Dipper wasn’t a good enough liar to be tricking him here, and hope was coiling its way back into Bill’s chest. Slowly, the fear and the anxiety was being eaten away by Dipper’s concern, and by his own acceptance of the brunet’s words, “I _always_ love and want you, Pine Tree… and I want to know that you want me too… no matter whose hands have touched me before.”

 

It seemed those words were enough to coax Dipper into motion again, the writer carefully wrapping his arms around Bill, giving the dancer plenty of time to pull away, but Bill simply let out a half-sob and relaxed into the taller man’s arms. Dipper’s mouth pressed itself to the skin below Bill’s ear, soft and tender, “It doesn’t matter whose hands have touched you, doesn’t matter whose hands _will_ touch you someday. All that matters to me is that right now, and for as long as you’ll have me, its my hands that are allowed to touch you.”

 

The love in Dipper’s voice and the warmth of Dipper’s arms around him were enough to melt the last of the ice that had formed around his heart at the notion of betrayal, and with it came the barrier to tears, Bill burying his face in the writer’s chest as he began to cry in earnest. It felt good, finally letting all of those anxieties come to light, a weight taken off his chest as Dipper rubbed circles on his back, pressing kisses into his hair and whispering sweet nothings.

 

“I’m sorry, Dipper… Sorry I… sorry I doubted you…” Guilt washed over the dancer as his sobs quieted and he couldn’t look up, focusing on the carpet.

 

Slowly, Dipper took hold of Bill’s chin and tugged it up, trying to get the blond to look him in the eye, a small sad smile on his face as he shook his head, “Don’t apologise, Bill. I should have… told you, shouldn’t have made you feel like that. I love you… I love _all of you,_ and I did a poor job of showing it.”

 

Through his tears, Bill smiled, a light sparking in golden eyes again as they met deep brown, “You’re showing me now… and that… that means everything… I love you, Dipper Pines… and I don’t think I could stop even if I wanted to.”

 

With care and love and warmth in his eyes, Dipper leant down, pressing the softest kiss he could muster to Bill’s lips, whispering into the silence between them, “I hope you never want to.”

  
  



	18. Punishment and Payment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trust brings about a whole new element in one relationship, and slowly rebuilds another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna warn you now this chapter is basically just sin. but! plot relevant sin.

Dipper wasn’t sure what he expected to happen after the confrontation, wasn’t sure how Bill would react, if the dancer would need some time to himself, or if he’d need to step back. But he certainly hadn’t expected the swift integration, the ease with which Bill approached him both normally and as Cipher, and how comfortable he was with touch now.

 

But he supposed, if feeling dirty was at the root of the insecurities, being touched by someone he loved might cure that, or at least chase the feeling away. And Dipper could enjoy both sides of his minx of a boyfriend without fear of upsetting him.

 

Needless to say, kissing Cipher was an experience. It always left Dipper breathless, hands clutching at Cipher’s hips while the blond tugged at his hair, teeth pulling at his lower lip as Cipher backed away from the kiss, a grin on his face. And that same ferocity carried over into anything when Cipher was involved. There was always love in his actions, care and genuine emotion, but Cipher was undoubtedly more aggressive than Bill, more forceful in his expression of that love.

 

Dipper really couldn’t complain.

 

Resolving the conflict also meant Dipper spent more time at the club, both for shows and for rehearsals. He learnt more than a few new things about Bill, like his penchant for sitting up on the catwalk above the stage when he needed some time alone, or when he simply wanted to play a trick on the others.

 

Dipper had played witness to one of those very tricks, watching from a safe distance as blond hair ducked out of the trap door in the ceiling and turned a bucket over, dropping the water within on Jet, sitting on the floor beneath him. The blond dancer had spent the rest of the afternoon running through the club and cackling, trying to avoid Jet’s malicious gaze and whatever retributory prank was surely coming his way.

 

Spending more time at the club meant spending more time with the other dancers, too, and that was something Dipper genuinely enjoyed, though Blaine avoided his gaze whenever he came by. Bill assured him he was getting over his jealousy, but Dipper still couldn’t trust the scarlet haired boy after all the trouble he caused.

 

Chance and Jet, on the other hand, were a riot to hang around with. Chance had known Bill the longest, they’d been hired together at the start, and thus he was most used to his mood swings and bouts of mischief. Rarely if ever was Chance the target of Bill’s little pranks, because the taller man was certain to get back swiftly and with sevenfold embarrassment.

 

Once, he’d tossed Bill over his shoulder and paraded around while the blond pounded on his shoulders, demanding to be put down. Not a soul in the club- save Bill- could stop laughing for more than half an hour later.

 

Of all of the dancers, Jet was the most soft spoken, not shy, but simply not talkative. He seemed content to sit in on conversations, only making comments here and there, but each comment was perfect, amusing or insightful. Dipper liked him, he was easy to get along with.

 

It was easy to see how Bill had taken each of these people in and made a family out of them, everything ran smoothly and it was obvious they cared deeply for each other. It left a smile on his face whenever they left the club, he was glad to know Bill had this home away from home, his second family.

 

Sometimes, Cipher went to the trouble of properly inviting him to a show, and each time, it was an experience to remember.

 

Tonight was one of those nights, the dancer slipping an arm around his waist as he worked through his warm up, leaning up to rest his head on Dipper’s shoulder, “Come watch tonight? I’ve got something _special_ planned…”

 

God help Dipper, there was no hope of him turning that down.

 

Sitting in the front row, Dipper’s palms were slick with anticipation. The lighting in the club was different tonight, more reds filtered in amongst the usual whites, and the crowd was different tonight as well. Dipper came often enough these days to know who the ‘regulars’ were, and how they shifted around depending on who was dancing tonight.

 

Nearly everyone was here for Cipher tonight, Dipper was almost certain. That was how it always was when the blond was promised for a center show performance. But there was more shadow cast over their faces, a darker mood in the whole place, a sensuality that was almost dangerous, though Dipper couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

 

The low, dark laugh that filtered in from the speakers had a shiver running down his spine and he was suddenly, deeply aware of his own mortality as the curtains lifted from the stage, revealing the source of the laughter. Of course, Dipper had known who would it be long before the curtains were gone.

 

Cipher stood in a spotlight, head turned to the side to show the audience a sharp profile, mouth drawn up in a grin. But it was the outfit, not the pose, that had Dipper’s mouth going dry in an instant, his heart beating in his ears.

 

A corset bound the blond dancer’s torso, black with gold lacing up the back and gold lace around the edges, dipping his waist in even more at the center and flaring his hips out. Black gloves sheathed his arms up to his elbows, glinting a bit in the stage light, and one of those hands was clenched tight around the handle of a whip, poised as if Cipher were ready to strike.

 

Dipper wouldn’t be surprised if he was.There was another person in the shadow behind Cipher, after all.

 

Beneath the corset was a pair of black silk panties, much less fabric than usually covered Cipher’s midriff and lower body and Dipper couldn’t help but follow the tantalising trail down to boot clad feet, the heels adding a good five inches to the dancer’s height. Cipher stood in those heels like they were nothing and the dancer _exuded_ power. It had Dipper sweating even from here, without Cipher’s eyes even on him.

 

“My, my, my, don’t we have _quite_ the crowd tonight. I’m _flattered_ so many of you are here to be _punished.”_

 

It was a testament to Dipper’s character that he didn’t faint then and there from the blood rushing southward, abandoning his limbs. But, god was he glad he didn’t as the lights shifted, revealing the identity of the man kneeling behind Cipher.

 

Green eyes stared at the floor, black and red hair flipped over his face as Cipher came to stand in front of Phoenix, trailing the whip slowly over the back of his head and neck.

 

“Unfortunately, I’m _quite_ pressed for time, so this boy here will have to play scapegoat for all of _your_ transgressions. What do you say, is he suitable?”

 

A chorus of cheers and approving statements had Cipher’s laugh ringing out again, the whip coming up and then lightly lashing across Phoenix’s back, not enough to mark but enough to get the other dancer to arch his back and gasp. The blond bent his knees, grabbing hold of a handful of Phoenix’s hair to yank his head up, letting the audience see him.

 

“Hear that, pet? You’re going to be punished for them. Doesn’t that _excite you?”_

 

While Dipper knew the show was staged and rehearsed, he was also certain there was an honest energy between the two of them, and somehow, he caught on to the jist of it. This was Phoenix’s final surrender, giving up his aggressions toward Cipher and being ‘punished’ for it. All as part of a show.

 

And god damn him if it wasn’t absolutely thrilling to watch as the dark haired dancer nodded, mouth pressed closed.

 

“Good.”

 

The dance that followed was not so much a power play as a parading. Hidden by the shadows, Cipher pulled up a chain that was connected to a leather band at Phoenix’s neck and dragged him up by it before the two began to dance, Cipher’s hands splaying across Phoenix’s skin like brands. An opposite of the first time Dipper had watched Cipher dance, when Phoenix’s hands had gripped the blond’s hips like vices.

 

Any sound from Phoenix’s lips was contraband and punished with a light lash across his back and a yank on the leash, cutting off the noise before it could form words.

 

Sensual and sexual and dark, Cipher’s hands wrapped around Phoenix’s neck, with just enough pressure to make his breath catch as the blond laughed into his microphone, a perpetual grin on his face as he tossed the dark haired dancer away before tugging him back in by his chain leash, a game of tug of war with twirls and swayed hips.

 

It was somewhere between battle and sex, and Dipper couldn’t look away.

 

The bassline of the song began to falter, calling the dance to its end, and Cipher tossed Phoenix lightly to the floor again, the dark haired dancer going to his knees with ease, head bowed.

 

But that wasn’t enough for the blond this time and Cipher tugged the chain leash, pulling Phoenix forward so that he was lying on his stomach, legs curled underneath him, face pressed to the stage and turned to the side again. From here, the light welts raised by the whip were visible, thin red lines that would fade by the next day but which were visible now against the scarlet dancer’s skin.

 

The audience began to clap and cheer, certain that the dance was over, but as the music came to its final notes, Cipher turned out to the crowd and gave a lascivious wink before he sauntered around to stand at Phoenix’s side, tugging up on the chain and pulling his head just off the floor, just enough to be pressed back down as the blond lifted one booted foot, setting it back down across Phoenix’s neck.

 

The sole pushed Phoenix’s face back down onto the stage and the heel pressed into the skin just below the nape of the other dancer’s neck as Cipher looked down at him, a smirk lingering on his face.

 

“Maybe now, you’ll know to play nice.”

 

Any chance Dipper had of simply falling asleep that night had flown off the minute the show started. His blood was hot in his veins the whole way home, and Cipher didn’t seem to be any better off, the dancer flashing him a look as he stepped out the dressing room.

 

The instant the door closed behind them, Dipper was turning on Cipher, wanting but unable to put his thoughts into words. Unworthy, he felt, to do anything but beg at the dancer’s feet.

 

Almost as if the dancer could sense his disposition, Cipher reached up to pull Dipper down by his collar, meshing their mouths together like puzzle pieces, hot and quick and breathless. By some instinct, Dipper wrapped his arms around the blond, picking him up and giving Cipher a better vantage point from which to come at him, and the dancer was quick to make use of it.

 

Cipher’s legs were around his waist in an instant, tight as a vice as the dancer’s hands tugged at his hair, twining his hands through it and coaxing a low moan from Dipper’s lips. With a grin on his face, Cipher drank in the sounds like honeyed wine, attacking the brunet’s mouth again with new vigour, tongue tracing the seam of Dipper’s lips until the writer granted him entry and he mapped the space, not leaving a single tooth untouched.

 

By the time Cipher pulled away to catch his breath in a gasping laugh, Dipper had him pressed back against the wall just to keep upright, his knees shaking from the intensity of it all.

 

Thin lips came to touch his ear, Cipher’s voice purring beside it and sending a shiver down his spine, “What do you say I forgo the music tonight, cool myself down some _other_ way? Think you can get me to bed faster than that playlist?”

 

That was a question that didn’t require an answer given aloud, Dipper simply shifting his hold on Cipher so that he could walk, taking the dancer to his bedroom in a matter of steps and laying down, letting the blond rest atop him, hips pressed together as Cipher stared down at him with interest.

 

“Tell me, Pine Tree, do you want to play _my game_ tonight? How long do you think you’ll last, blindfolded and cuffed down? Unable to see me, unable to touch me… _Entirely_ at my _mercy.”_

 

The only answer Dipper could muster up was a soft moan, just the notion taking his breath away and robbing him of the ability to speak. His wrists crossed themselves above his head, an open offer for the dancer to do with him what he willed.

 

One after the other, Cipher raised the wrists to his mouth and kissed the pulse that beat there, softly once before biting at the skin, deep enough to break it without drawing blood. As the wound pulsed hot, he slid the cold metal of the handcuff around Dipper’s wrist, the contrast of sensation drawing a whine from the brunet’s lips.

 

“Oh dear me, will I have to _gag you_ too, Pine Tree? How _naughty_ of you.”

 

Dipper was almost certain his heart stopped right then, brown eyes looking up into liquid gold, and he would have been happy dying just then, if it had been his fate. But the world was kind-or unkind, perhaps- to him and left him to his punishment at the dancer’s hands.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( a note, cipher dancing with phoenix again is a huge thing between them since they've both been avoiding each other out of jealousy and distrust. so this, while also being Phoenix's apology and surrender, is also a show of trust between them )


	19. Chill Breezes and Warm Hearths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fall has settled in, Winter on its heels, and it's time for yet another introduction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter of the base story. <3 Sleep is futile for me now, my life is glitter

Time passed like a whirlwind for Dipper, the only indicator the changing colour of the leaves outside the apartment windows. Summer was long gone and fall had sunk its fingers well into the world around him. The air was chill, the breezes sharp, and the rains came even more frequently than in the summer.

Once, he would have lamented the oncoming chill, so different from the dry, temperate climate of central California where he grew up. Oregon always seemed, for all its beauty, unholy cold once the sun of summer faded away.

But now, he had more than enough reason to appreciate the coming of winter.

Bill was no more suited to the cold than he, bundling up under more layers when he left for work or for errands, a scarf around his neck and pulled up over his mouth and nose, hiding away half of his face. Even that, though, could not stop the flush that coloured his cheeks each time he stepped out of doors, cheeks and ears cold. Though, that didn’t stop the blond dancer from enjoying every moment of it, his mouth drawn up into a grin whenever he pulled the scarf down to speak or to lean up and capture Dipper’s lips in a kiss.

Protected by the scarf, Bill’s lips were always warm, a welcome comfort against the chill that chapped at Dipper’s own.

Clothing choices aside, Bill had other means of resisting the chill that threatened to settle in around them, pulling recipe books down from the top shelf on his wall.

“These are reserved for the holidays, for colder seasons. They’re too heavy for summer time, but they’re just right at this time of year,” Bill’s voice left no room for questioning, and it wasn’t as if Dipper had any reason to complain. He maintained his belief, after all, that anything the dancer cooked could never be less than perfect.

As of yet, that theory had not been proven wrong.

Hot apple cider, half a dozen different hot cocoa recipes, stews and hearty, warm dinners that settled in his stomach and warmed him from the inside in. And every single one of them was better than the last, delicious and perfect.

It seemed Bill never tired of hearing that, either, a bright smile on his face each time as he ate his own food with a bit less vigour, savouring rather than devouring as was Dipper’s wont when faced with such a feast.

With fall and winter, too, came holidays and obligations, and an accusation that Mabel was swift to throw at him when she called him.

“Three months. You’ve been with this man for _three months_ and I _still_ haven’t been invited up to meet him? Who _raised you,_ DipDop? He’s all you talk about, and yet all I’ve seen of him is glimpses in poorly-taken couple’s selfies.”

A nervous chuckle came in reply to that, Dipper running a hand through his hair though his sister was not there to see, “I’ve been busy, Mabes, and I’m sure you have too.” He pushed through the laughter and Mabel’s repetition of the word ‘busy’, a flush burning on his cheeks, “The LA Fashion District isn’t exactly the most forgiving place, from what I’ve been told.”

“I’d take a break to come see you, bro. _Especially_ if it meant meeting this beautiful boy you’ve been ranting and raving about.” Dipper couldn’t see her face, but he knew Mabel was rolling her eyes at him, and so he smiled, laughing.

He took a moment to pause, humming as if deep in thought, “Well, Bill _did_ tell me to ask if you’d like to join us for Thanksgiving, since his brother will be out of town to visit their parents, but if you’re going to be so _rude_ about it, maybe I just _won’t.”_

“We’ll be there.”

The statement was final and commanding and had a laugh pouring forth from Dipper’s lips as he ended the phone call, giving a thumbs up to the dancer across the room, Bill splayed out across most of the couch with a lazy sort of ease.

“I hope you’re ready, Bill. My sister’s a force to be reckoned with.”

Bill’s laugh rang out from the couch and he shrugged his shoulders, a mischievous smile on his lips, “I put up with you, don’t I?”

The statement was enough to get Dipper to pounce on the dancer in retaliation, picking up a pillow from the ground and lightly tossing it at Bill before pulling it away from his face to press a kiss to his lips, both of them laughing as they tussled around.

Thanksgiving had always been a somber holiday for Bill, particularly in the years since being ousted from his parents’ house. Even when he lived there, the dinners had been cold, formal affairs, but once he could no longer look his mother or father in the eye, the day simply became lonely.

It was, after all, the only holiday Will spent with their parents, rather than him. A penance, a show of thanks for all they had done for him, and Bill did not begrudge him that. At least one of them could still grace the family doorstep. He had long since stopped sending his season’s greetings with Will, though, after his father sent Will back with a letter, formally asking that Bill not so much as think to speak to them.

There was no love lost in abandoning that practice, the final tie cut. It was only in the silence and loneliness of the holiday that Bill was truly punished.

But this year, all of that would be different.

He had shooed Dipper from the house but an hour ago to pick up his sister from the airport, and also to get him out of the kitchen. Bill had a masterful feast to prepare, and the last thing he needed was the brunet distracting him.

Because _goodness_ could that boy be distracting when he wanted to be. And the dancer was becoming more and more helpless to resist those distractions.

Alone in the kitchen, he could laugh at himself for that. Going weak, getting soft for this man he’d fallen head over heels for, extended even to his once-strict rules about Dipper’s presence in the kitchen. But he couldn’t let such things impact this meal even one bit. It would have to be his best, both for the holiday’s sake and to impress Mabel.

For all Dipper talked of her kindness and her loving spirit, Bill could not help but be nervous. He wasn’t exactly the most exemplary partner, after all. Who wanted their brother dating a man who danced for a living, really?

If he could prove himself in this, he would have at least one positive trait to be praised, and perhaps that would win her approval. Bill wasn’t sure what he would do if Dipper’s twin sister disliked him. It would certainly make things awkward in the long run, for all parties involved.

The anxiety tied knots in Bill’s stomach as he cooked and he switched a soothing playlist on, anything to get his mind off of the situation. Blessedly, the meal was complex enough to require most of his attention and the dark thoughts became simple background noise as he worked, humming to himself.

So focused was he on his cooking that the dancer jumped when Dipper opened the door, a grin on his face. And the first, idle thought in Bill’s mind was that he’d lost track of when Dipper had stopped knocking before entering, started treating Bill’s apartment like home. It warmed a place deep in his chest and he smiled at Dipper, waving.

“Welcome back. Did our guests arrive safely as well?”

His answer came in the form of a squeal and a rush of colour before a pair of arms were wrapped around him, the hug tight and nearly-bone crushing. It took a moment for Bill to get his bearings, tense in the embrace before slowly wrapping his arms around the brunette in return, patting her back.

“Geez, Mabes, I told you to say hi, not trample him.”

“I _am_ saying hi, Dipper. _You_ just never say hi the right way.” The voice was familiar, though Bill had only ever heard it second hand through the phone, and the snarky tone, too, was one he knew well. Mabel, it seemed, wielded a lighter form of her brother’s humour.

Marginally more comfortable knowing who it was that had mauled him, Bill let a light laugh escape him as he patted her shoulder again, “Nice to meet you too, Ms. Pines. I must say, no one has _ever_ come so close to killing me upon first seeing me, so you have broken a record.”

To compound the melodrama of his statement, Bill pulled a face of agony, acting as if his breath was truly struggling to escape and the brunette laughed, letting go of him and putting her hand out with a grin.

“Breaking records is my game, Bill. And none of that ‘Ms. Pines’ nonsense, I’m gonna be your sister-in-law, not your _teacher._ Call me Mabel.”

Bill took her hand with a raised eyebrow, shaking it before turning back to stir the gravy on the stove with a chuckle, “Was there an engagement party I missed? Because, if so, I fear we’ve both misplaced the ring.”

Laughter rang out from all four people in the kitchen and it was that fourth voice that had Bill looking over, putting his hand out again, “Oh, how rude of me. I forgot to ask your name in all of the confusion.”

The other blonde laughed, shaking her head and taking his hand lightly, “No need. I know Mabel, I expected her _grand_ entrance to rather upstage me. Pacifica Northwest, and if that engagement party ever happens, I’ll be helping to plan it. It’s a duty of the bridegroom’s sister-in-law, after all.”

“A pleasure to meet you as well,” Belatedly, a thought came to Bill and he laughed, looking between the twins and over at Pacifica before he looked down at himself, shaking his head at the irony of it all.

Three sets of eyes turned to him in confusion, but it was Dipper who voiced the question they all held.

“What’s funny, Bill?”

“It’s not funny so much as it is astonishing coincidence. Two pairs of twins, and not a single one of us straight among the lot.”

Thankfully, the room found the notion as funny as he did, laughing along with him as he ushered them out of the kitchen to put the final touches on the meal, a smile lingering on his face.

He’d never felt so comfortable around a person at first meeting as he was with Mabel. Dipper had spoken no lie, she was, in truth, the kindest and most welcoming person he’d ever met, save his own brother.

They would get along well, if they ever were allowed to meet… But the world would also be no match for their combined skills, Bill feared.

It was a little tight, all four of them around Bill’s tiny dining table, but they made it work, the food piled there and on the breakfast bar, set up buffet style. Needless to say, there was more than enough of it to go around, but Bill intended on sending the girls home with any leftovers they liked even the slightest bit.

Even Dipper couldn’t manage to eat all of these in a timely manner, he was sure.

Conversation during the meal itself was sparse, the guests- and Dipper- far more interested in the food than idle chatter. Bill was almost certain his smile never fell during the entirety of the meal, through dinner and dessert. Praise fell like honey on his ears and pride kindled a fire in his heart, though he brushed it all off with a wave of his hand. It was his pleasure to cook for others, after all.

It was after the meal that conversation picked up again, Bill pulling a bottle of wine out of the cabinet that he rarely touched and setting the glasses on the coffee table, one for each of them. Nothing like a bit of wine to loosen the tongue and warm the room- one of the few lessons he’d learnt from his father that he’d bothered to remember.

“Bill, that meal was absolutely delicious. Where’d you learn to cook like that?”

A slim hand gestured to the cookbooks on the wall and under the coffee table, a smile on his face, “I taught myself. And did a lot of reading. I’m pretty sure I’ve read all the way through every single one of those recipe books… Also google is a godsend.”

Dipper and Pacifica laughed at that, but Mabel was still on her path, looking at the books herself, “You never went to culinary school? Or even took a class?”

For a moment, a shadow fell over Bill’s face before he could push it back with a smile, shaking his head, “No… Not for lack of want, though. I just never had the time or the money, and it’s no use going now. So I content myself with things like this, cooking for the people I care about most.”

And it was a lie he’d told himself so many times that it sounded true, though gold eyes flickered to Dipper’s face and saw the flash of suspicion and concern there before Dipper’s face, too, was smoothed. Bill flashed the brunet a smile, shaking his head minutely to dismiss the notion before he turned back to Mabel, “But thank you. It means a lot, hearing such high praise. Your brother is this kind always, but I was beginning to think it was simply because he wouldn’t be eating otherwise.”

With that little joke, the atmosphere lightened again, laughter bubbling up from all four of them settled on the couch and in the armchairs, and the conversation turned to other things, Mabel’s work down in LA, Dipper’s novel and the fanmail he got, Bill’s best stories from the club.

It was the warmest Thanksgiving he’d ever had.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just tomorrow before the base story is finished ( some day I'll write the prequel and the sequel but I have to write my other fic first )


	20. Old Traditions and New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holiday cheer to close out the year, and begin a new chapter in their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I present, with heaviness in my heart, the last chapter of All That Glitters.

Finding a gift for Bill was quite possibly the most difficult task ever assigned to him. The dancer didn’t seem to have want or need of anything, and he had more money than he knew what to do with these days. Bill spoke of it proudly from time to time, how he no longer had to worry about putting food on the table or keeping a roof over his head.

 

It was one of the few subjects concerning his work that the dancer was openly proud of, fiercely enamoured with his own freedom and independence. With good reason, too, from what Dipper knew of the dancer’s past.

 

And he knew bits and pieces, scraps of information that Bill let slip in conversation, a show of trust and of closeness. He knew that Bill kept a box of ashes in his bedside table, a collection of photographs burnt down to cinders, and some days he woke in a cold sweat and reached out for that box, his reality check, his proof that he was free indeed.

 

He knew about the schism in Bill’s family, of Bill’s removal from the proverbial family tree and casting out. And he knew of Bill’s subsequent reliance on his former boss-turned lover, knew of how that reliance had turned to dependence, and how that dependence had dragged him down and locked him up, a bird in a gilded cage.

 

Bill talked about Erik rarely and briefly, a shadow falling over his face each time before the dancer could force the thoughts from his head and toss out a smile instead, sliding the conversation to a new topic. Dipper always let him, not wanting to force Bill to linger in dark memories, but was always left wondering just how deep Erik’s actions had cut Bill and just how many of those wounds festered still.

 

Dipper had set a new goal for himself, to heal each and every one of those wounds until Bill saw himself the way Dipper saw him, as a light brighter than the sun, a force to be reckoned with, a stone that had withered the harshest of storms and had only a polished face to show for it.

 

If it took showering the dancer with compliments and gifts until he believed he deserved them, then Dipper would be more than happy to do so.

 

But a perfect Christmas gift would be a good start.

 

The dancer had already picked out his gift for Dipper, it was wrapped up on the mantlepiece in multiple pieces, and Bill had expressly forbidden touching it. More than once Dipper had tried and each time the blond tossed him a warning glare, harsh enough to ward Dipper away from the neatly wrapped boxes even when Bill was away from home.

 

With such potential competition, Dipper felt a need to do Bill justice in turn, but he simply couldn’t think of anything. What did you buy for someone who needed nothing and wanted less?

 

At wit’s end, he waited until Bill headed off to work with a kiss and a wink, cheeks already flushed by the chill, before grabbing his phone and dialing a quick number, one he’d memorised from seeing it on the receiver so often.

 

“Good evening, Dipper Pines. To what do I owe the pleasure, or is my brother deathly ill and refusing to see me, as is his wont?” Will’s voice had an indulgent sort of annoyance to it, though there was the ever-present concern beneath.

 

Quick to dismiss the worries, Dipper laughed and shook his head despite the young doctor’s inability to see him, “No, no, far from it. Bill’s as healthy as ever, though he has taken to wearing a few more layers since the chill set in.”

 

A hum came in response, the concern leaving Will’s tone while the indulgence remained, “Yes, well, chill does come as a bit of a shock to us both, even now. Four years away from the heat of southern California does not a winter boy make.”

 

Both of them laughed over that before Dipper found words to voice the reason for his call, clearing his throat, “Will… I have a bit of a predicament…”

 

In an instant, the concern returned, and Dipper could see where the two brothers were similar again, both of them so posed to protect anyone they cared about from any perceived threat, “What’s the matter, Dipper? Is it something with Bill?”

 

“Well, yes and no-and before you worry, because I can _hear_ you worrying from here, it’s...it’s nothing bad. It’s just…” His voice trailed off in a sigh, embarrassment making the words catch in his throat.

 

“You know, as intelligent as I am, I’m not a mind reader, especially from this distance. So spit it out, or I’m really going to worry, Dipper.”

 

It came as a rushed sentence, the brunet breathing it all out like an admission of defeat, “I have _no idea_ what to get Bill for Christmas. Literally not a clue. He has _everything_ he could _possibly need_ and I don’t want to clutter up his apartment with something he doesn’t want.”

 

The laugh that filtered over the phone surprised Dipper and he was affronted for a moment as Will answered with amusement, “A Christmas present? That’s what’s got you in such a tiff? And here I thought someone was _dying,_ goodness.” Another chuckle came before Will clicked his tongue, the smile visible in his voice, “Dipper, you could give him a kiss on Christmas morning and tell him you loved him more than the moon loves the sun, and that would be enough for him. Bill craves good company and love more than any boon.”

 

“But _he_ got _me_ a gift, Will. I can’t just not get him one in return…”

 

Once again, Dipper could almost hear the gears whirring in Will’s head, but this time he was more curious than worried about what the doctor was thinking about.

 

“I think I might have an idea.”

 

Christmas morning was devoted to Bill’s tradition of tripping up through Portland to his brother’s house, though Dipper made sure to call Mabel before they left, promising to get in touch with her after the festivities and perhaps visiting after the new year, once Bill could get more time off at the club. The holiday season was, thankfully, quieter than most.

 

They agreed to exchange their own gifts one they were home for the evening, curled up on the couch with mugs of hot cocoa.

 

Dipper learnt quite swiftly that Christmas with the Cipher twins was the farthest thing from normal. Bill’s mouth was drawn up in a near-sinister grin when Dipper asked after the gift in the bag, refusing to answer clearly.

 

“I’m gonna win this year.”

 

No further explanation would Bill give than that, and Dipper was left wondering as they parked in front of Will’s house and walked up to the door, Bill knocking three times before taking out the key he rarely used and letting himself in, yelling up the stairs, “Brother dear, it’s Christmas, don’t tell me you’re still _asleep!”_

 

“That’s _my line,_ sleepyhead. Don’t steal it like it’s yours.” Will was leaning against the banister at the top of the stairs, a smile on his face as he gestured for them to come up, “Merry Christmas, Dipper. I hope you’re in for some fun.”

 

‘Fun’ turned out to be watching as the twins tried to cook breakfast together, which consisted mostly of Bill cooking while Will did everything in his power to prevent his brother from doing just that. From stealing ingredients to outright changing the settings on the oven, Will was a much more efficient disruptor than Dipper could ever hope to be.

 

But, he supposed, the younger twin did have years of experience doing just that.

 

In about twice as long as Bill would have finished normally, breakfast was served, though the annoyed expression Dipper was expecting never came to light on Bill’s face, there was nothing but a friendly sort of rivalry, his elbow digging into Will’s ribs as he set the plates of waffles on the table proudly.

 

“An hour and forty three minutes. You held me out for longer last year, bro.”

 

“Yes, well, last year we didn’t have guests. It wouldn’t be fair to make Dipper wait too long just for the sake of our game. Besides, I’m confident that I’ll win at presents this year.”

 

Bill’s eyebrow was raised as he sat down between the two of them, a snort escaping him, “We’ll see about that.”

 

Dipper wasn’t sure he’d ever been more confused, but at least the whole atmosphere was warm. Whatever this was, it was a game and it lit the house with a mischievous sort of love, a familial love with far too much in common to be split.

 

His answers came soon enough, though, when they gathered around in Will’s sitting room to exchange gifts. Will gave Dipper one first, a smile on his face as the brunet unwrapped a framed picture of himself and Bill, one he certainly didn’t remember taking, or being taken.

 

His arm was wrapped around Bill’s shoulders, the two of them seated on the couch with their mouths open in laughter. Bill was leaning into him, resting his head on Dipper’s shoulder, and their other hands were interlocked on Bill’s knee, fingers laced together.

 

It was the happiest picture he’d ever seen of Bill.

 

“You’re awful at taking selfies, so I took it upon myself to take a couple of pictures myself. That one just turned out the best.”

 

Grinning, Dipper pulled Will into a quick hug before looking back down to the picture, “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Will.”

 

Will waved off the thanks before opening Dipper’s gift, interest sparking in pale blue eyes, “Is this a case study?”

 

“Yeah, my publisher had advance copies in his office when I went in to talk dates for my book, and I asked if I could take one for you. It won’t be released until next year at the earliest, so you’ll get the info long before anyone else.”

 

It was clear that Will was excited by the prospect and Bill laughed from his place beside Dipper on the floor, clicking his tongue, _“Aaaand_ he’s gone. Won’t be tugging him out of that book for hours at the earliest.”

 

The trio all laughed before Will closed the book, setting it aside and pulling out an atrociously bright yellow bag and setting it down in front of Bill. In return, the dancer placed the bright blue bag in front of Bill, each of them poised above their gifts.

 

In tandem, they counted down from three and opened the gifts, each of them bursting into laughter at what they found.

 

And from what Dipper could see, the game was ‘whose gift is more unappealing?’.

 

Bill was nearly choking on laughter as he set the dipping bird on his hand, watching it fall in and out of the cup with barely contained amusement. And Will was staring down in incredulity at the lamp in his hand, looking between it and Bill several times before putting voice to his question.

 

“Is this the lamp from my study?”

 

Grinning, Bill shrugged his shoulders, tipping the bird back with his free hand, “It _might_ be.”

 

Will reached behind him to toss a pillow at his brother, laughing despite himself, “You asshole. I spent months looking for that, wondering if someone burglarised my house for a lamp alone.”

 

At that, a cackle escaped the dancer and he looked over at his brother with pride, “Guess that means I win, doesn’t it?”

 

Grumbling, Will took one last look at the lamp before sighing and rolling his eyes, “...This year. But mark my words, next year I’ll catch you unawares.”

 

“You say that every year, brother dear, and yet, what’s our score?”

 

The only response to that was a stuck out tongue before Will wandered off, presumably to return the lamp to its proper place, and Dipper looked down at Bill with mild confusion. The blond laughed and rested his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder, explaining with a smile.

 

“Neither of us want or need anything, and so we just try to find the worst possible gifts, just to get the other one to laugh. Best reaction wins. And I _always_ win.”

 

Dipper couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, but he was happy to be here, happy to be a part of this ritual, happy to be at the center of Bill’s intensely small social circle, at the place closest to his heart. It was where he felt most at home, where he felt he belonged, and where he always wanted to be.

 

The drive home was a bit more somber than the ride to Will’s had been, filled with occasional glances between the couple. Both were excited to get home, excited to curl up together and exchange gifts while music filtered in the background, a blanket wrapped around them and hot cocoa within arms reach.

 

Christmas had its romantic side too, after all.

 

Once they were inside, Bill flounced over to the mantle, picking up his gifts for Dipper and bringing them over to the coffee table before he set about making the hot cocoa, giving Dipper a chance to grab his gift, the envelope clutched in his fingers.

 

“Make yourself comfortable, Pine Tree, I’ll be joining you shortly and I’d like the blanket to already be warm, thank you very much.”

 

A laugh escaped Dipper but he followed the order nonetheless, curling up on the couch with just enough room for Bill to lay beside him, blanket across his lap, “Your wish is my command, your _majesty.”_

 

The only answer Dipper got was a shake of Bill’s head before he returned to the kitchen, finishing up the cocoa and topping the mugs off with homemade whipped cream from the fridge. He carried them over, handing one to Dipper before settling himself into place beside his boyfriend, a smile on his face as he took a sip.

 

“Peppermint, for the holiday spirit. Whaddaya think?”

 

Taking a sip of his own, Dipper let out a soft moan in response, giving Bill a thumbs up as he licked the whipped cream from his upper lip, “Delicious as always, little minx.”

 

“Well, since _you’re_ giving out compliments, I suppose I’ll give you my gift first. Open them in order, alright?” And Bill handed him the three parcels, first a wide, rather flat one, then a long thin one, and finally, a cube-like one.

 

Dipper turned the packages over slowly, trying to guess what could be inside before he gave up the game and opened the first package, revealing a simple, but clearly high-quality journal, the cover made of black leather and the pages stitched in with gold thread. The paper was heavy, heavy enough to resist bleeding from most any ink, he’d guess. He opened his mouth to thank Bill but the dancer shook his head and pointed to the other two.

 

“All at once or not at all, Dipper.”

 

And so he turned to the two smaller gifts, unwrapping the long box to find a set of beautifully crafted glass pens, clear glass with strips of colour down the middle, one a dark gold with flecks of black, the other navy blue and sparks of silver. Certain of what the last package must contain, Dipper unwrapped it, revealing an inkpot filled with ink black as pitch.

 

Separately, each would have been lovely gifts, but together, the set must have cost a pretty penny, and with how well matched everything was, Dipper could tell Bill had put a lot of work into matching them. A warmth blossomed in his chest, the dancer had put in all of this effort for _him…_

 

“Thank you, Bill… They’re… they’re beautiful.”

 

Bill’s smile was softer than it had been all day, deprived for once of its usual mischief, “I know writing longhand helps you get through writer’s blocks so.. I figured if you had really nice things to write with, it might help even more.”

 

Amazed once again at the thought behind the gift, Dipper leant across the slight distance between them to press a kiss to Bill’s lips, surprising the dancer and leaving him breathless. “I love them… Not as much as I love you, but I do love them.”

 

The comment had Bill laughing lightheartedly as he kissed Dipper’s cheek in turn, flushed from happiness. And as Dipper pulled away, he left the envelope in Bill’s lap.

 

“Merry Christmas, Bill Cipher.”

 

Curious, the blond picked up the envelope and looked at it for a moment before pulling it open and taking the sheets of paper out. Here and there, post it notes were placed for initials and signatures, but Bill didn’t focus on those, looking instead at the first page, at the information listed there.

 

“...Culinary classes?”

 

His voice was awed and almost afraid as he looked up at Dipper, as if expecting the brunet to tear the paper away and present him with something else. But Dipper simply nodded with a smile, “Yeah. You’d start winter term, so you’d be a little bit behind, but I’m sure you’ll catch up in no time. All you have to do is sign, and you’ll be enrolled in class come mid-January.”

 

Bill’s hands were shaking, the papers with them, and he had to set them down. Dipper could see the tears pricking at the corners of the dancer’s eyes and for a second he was terrified he’d done some great wrong, made a mistake, until Bill threw himself across the distance between them, settling himself in Dipper’s lap to hug the taller man properly, head on his shoulder and arms around his neck.

 

When Bill spoke, his voice was hoarse and light as a feather, strung out in emotion that was audible in even two words, _“Thank you…”_

 

Dipper couldn’t see Bill’s face, but he could tell from here that the dancer was crying. He knew, though, that they were good tears as he pressed his lips to blond locks, a smile on his face as silence settled over them.

 

It was broken when Bill’s breathing finally calmed, a laugh escaping him, “Well, I was _going_ to try to surprise you and set the mood and everything, but you already beat me to that, I guess. Already got me crying…”

 

Dipper raised an eyebrow as he looked down at Bill, curious, “What do you mean? Set a mood for what?”

 

Slowly, Bill sat up so that he was kneeling with one knee on either side of Dipper’s thighs. No matter how often the dancer sat like this, it still brought the slightest flush to Dipper’s cheeks as Bill leant over, placing his lips to the author’s ear.

 

“Move in with me? For real, and for good. Live with me, make this apartment _ours,_ totally.”

 

And it was a question, Dipper knew it was, even though there wasn’t a single questioning word in there. Bill’s tone alone put it forth softly, a request and not a demand. And Dipper was unable to refuse.

 

“Of course. A thousand times yes.”

 

Bill grabbed his jaw at that, settling back down onto Dipper’s laps as he slotted their mouths together in a warm and intimate kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading <3
> 
> I wasn't expecting nearly the response I got for this fic and every single comment brings a smile to my face ( and more than once, a tear to my eye ). I'm so grateful to all of you for sticking with me through it all and I'm so glad I could share this experience with you <3
> 
> For the moment, Glitters' book is closed, but it's got a prequel and a sequel to look forward to once I've finished the next fic on my plate. In the meantime, if there's anything about the fic you want to ask, you can send any questions to ilananight.tumblr.com <3
> 
> Thank you again,  
>  Lani xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> this whole fic is sin


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